


Let Me Be Your Voice

by Queenie_Mab



Series: Mab's Harry/Draco fics [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Community: hd_holidays, Curses, Drinking Games, First Time, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Object Insertion, Parseltongue, school tie bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/pseuds/Queenie_Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the hero of the revolution, Harry leads the wizarding world in its efforts to rebuild; but first old wounds must be tended, rifts caused by hate mended, and his history with Draco Malfoy seems like the perfect place to start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySlytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/gifts).



> Written for the 2012 [HD_Holidays](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/244454.html) on livejournal. Featuring Art by the talented [LittleBlackBow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/pseuds/littleblackbow) aka Chibitoaster
> 
> Beta read by Groolover
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Warning(s):** Suggestions of past abuse including rape (non-explicit)

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat of honour in Courtroom Ten of the Ministry of Magic. The dark stone walls, rising overhead to a dizzying height, made him feel as insignificant as a droplet of water clinging to the lens of a long telescope.

Light from the dimly-burning torches on the walls fell upon the wretched figure of Draco Malfoy, seated in the centre of the room, shackled to his chair with chains while the looming figures of the assembled Wizengamot in the balcony above kept a sentinel watch. 

Malfoy’s face was ghostlike in the torchlight, his pale blond hair practically glowing against the gloom. 

The sight made Harry’s stomach turn. It was as awful as he imagined it would be to see a Patronus bound and gagged or a Unicorn hooked up to a plough. 

The reedy voice of Dawlish called the proceedings to order. He was the newly appointed Head Auror, though Harry knew it was due to lack of qualified applicants rather than his own prowess, having heard Kingsley Shacklebolt bemoan the appointment in the days following Voldemort’s defeat. 

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” Dawlish said, looking sternly down at the resigned figure. “You stand before the Wizengamot on charges of treason against the Ministry of Magic. You are marked as a Death Eater and played an instrumental part in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Do you have anything to say in your own defence?”

Harry’s skin crawled with cold. It couldn’t be happening this quickly, could it? He waited, absently holding his breath, for Malfoy to speak for himself, perhaps to explain how he’d been coerced into the part he’d played, or to attest to the fact that he was not yet a fully qualified wizard and shouldn’t be sentenced as one. But Malfoy said nothing. Instead he looked helplessly up into the faces of the Wizengamot, seeming to draw in on himself at the sight of their faces, grim with disapproval. He turned his eyes back to Dawlish where he sat beside the regal figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to Kingsley’s left, Amos Diggory, newly appointed Undersecretary to the Minister. Malfoy shook his head, conceding defeat.

Harry watched, horrified, as if time had suddenly gone into slow motion. Dawlish was speaking, his gavel rising as he prepared to announce his judgement, and Harry could stay silent no longer.

“I’ll speak for him!” he called out, jumping to his feet as the world righted its pace. 

The hand holding the gavel paused mid-air, almost comically, as murmurs broke out amongst the assembly. Dawlish turned to Kingsley for instruction.

Amos Diggory’s face had gone puce with anger, but Harry was relieved to see Kingsley silence him with a raised hand. Kingsley’s dark face nodded his approval to Harry, and Dawlish resignedly put the gavel down.

“Very well. Harry Potter will address the court before the sentence is passed,” Dawlish said, clearly unhappy at the delay. 

Harry shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wondering what was possessing him to put himself more in the spotlight than he already was, but he supposed it was his “saving people thing” kicking into gear out of habit. He was tired of the war, and sick at heart of witnessing injustice, powerless to stop it. 

His body ached from not having had a proper night’s sleep in ages, and he felt gawky and unsteady on his feet. Malfoy scowled at him from his chair, but Harry refused to be put off. He stared back, wondering if Malfoy would speak in protest, but Malfoy simply dropped his eyes to his lap. 

Harry’s fringe was wet with perspiration. The chill in the courtroom made it feel like ice against his skin. “Er…” he stammered, then, putting on as much bravado as he could muster: “Draco Malfoy is as much a victim of Voldemort as the rest of us.”

He paused, aware of the whispers of dissent rising around him, but soldiered on. 

“I was there the night Albus Dumbledore died,” he explained, his voice growing steadier as he went on, bolstered by his conviction. “Malfoy lowered his wand. He told Dumbledore he was acting against his will. He was being forced to act by Voldemort himself, under the threat of Voldemort killing him and his family. How many of you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” 

He stared down the whisperers, daring any of them to contradict him. “I know it may not have been the most noble of actions, but you must admit that protecting one’s own family is most people’s priority.” He stopped again, thinking about how he’d have acted in Malfoy’s shoes. 

“Family is important,” Harry stressed. “I never got to know my family because Voldemort killed them, but I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if they were alive and I was put in the position to choose as Malfoy was. Consider your own lives, your own parents and children. Would you not do everything in your power to protect them? But more than that. Albus Dumbledore forgave Draco Malfoy before he died. He offered to protect him and his family if Malfoy would come over to the right side, even though Malfoy’s father is a Death Eater. And he was about to do it, but the other Death Eaters charged into the room and took the opportunity away and Dumbledore was powerless to stop them.”

Harry’s eyes burned with emotion at the recollection. He had no tears, however; wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of breaking down to grieve until the Death Eater trials were finished and there was some semblance of normality in the world again. 

He went on, his voice shaking slightly, but he was determined to see Malfoy was given the second chance Dumbledore had offered him. “Draco Malfoy is not the bravest wizard I’ve ever met. We’ve never got on well. In fact, we’ve despised each other for years, but he tried to save my life.”

The whispers grew again, swelling in wonderment and demands for an explanation. 

Harry waited for them to quiet. “During the war, I was captured by Snatchers along with several of my friends. I was disguised by a Stinging Hex Hermione had thrown at my face. We were taken to the Malfoys’ house, taken directly to Voldemort, though thankfully he was away at the time. Malfoy had the opportunity to identify me and my friends, but he didn’t. Even as his father pressed him, promising that everything would be better if they were the ones who handed me to Voldemort. He didn’t do it.”

Harry paused a moment, aware that he held the room at rapt attention. “I’ve already spoken on behalf of Malfoy’s mother. She was cleared of criminal charges and placed on a year-long house arrest by this same assembly. I ask you to look at yourselves. How brave were you when you were sixteen? Draco Malfoy is just a kid, as am I. We are still not even fully-qualified wizards. I beg you to look past your hatred of Voldemort and his Death Eaters to see the person who sits before you. The kid who wanted nothing more than to please his father and found himself in too deep with true evil. Dumbledore thought Malfoy deserved a second chance, and I say the same. It’s up to you whether or not to grant it.”

Harry stopped talking. He looked at Malfoy once more, but Malfoy continued to stare at his own lap. Harry turned and addressed Kingsley. “Er… That’s all I have to say,” he stammered, and sat back down, feeling the jitters of stage fright crawling across his skin, but determinedly ignoring them. 

Kingsley nodded his head majestically. “Well said, Mr. Potter,” he said, and reached over to take the gavel away from Dawlish. “The Wizengamot will retire for consideration of this testimony. Court will reconvene tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.” He brought the gavel down upon the table, and the assembly rose and began to disband. 

Harry watched as Malfoy was released from his chains, watched as he was led away by a pair of Aurors, his head bowed, and still showing no signs of speaking.

His silence unnerved Harry. It seemed out of Malfoy’s character for him to not speak for himself, but he supposed the position Malfoy was in had humbled him.

~x~

At dinner at the Burrow that night, Harry wasn’t hungry. He pushed a chunk of his beef stew around the bottom of his bowl with his spoon.

“That was a very noble thing you did today, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said from the head of the table. 

Harry looked up at the Weasley patriarch, noticing that his receding red hair had greyed significantly in the past month. 

Ron grunted as he chewed, not looking at Harry. Harry knew Ron and Hermione did not hold the same sentiments regarding Malfoy as he did, but he didn’t have the energy to argue with them. 

“I thought it was big of you, too,” Ginny said quietly from her place beside her mother. Mr. Weasley had been present at the trial and had filled the family in as to how it had gone earlier in the day. “I mean, Malfoy is a royal git, but you’re right to want to give him the chance Dumbledore offered him.”

Having Ginny agree with him didn’t please Harry in the way he had expected it to. Instead, hearing her speak reminded him of what they had put on hold, and he wasn’t keen to have the conversation with her that he knew was coming. 

Walking to his own death had made him realise exactly how precious life was, and his priorities had changed since he’d come back from it alive. He wanted to live now, really live his own life, the way he wanted, the way he was meant to, and unfortunately Ginny wasn’t a close part of the future he now envisioned.

He put down his spoon and scooted his chair away from the table. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Weasley,” he said quietly. “I think I’m going to try and get some rest now.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him kindly, though he saw the worry in her eyes, probably because he hadn’t eaten much. “Of course, dear,” she said. “If you get hungry in the night, feel free to wake me up; I’ll fix you something.”

He smiled feebly, thankful for her thoughtfulness, but longing to get away from people. He needed some time to process all the events that had been weighing on him, but first he needed to rest.

As he headed down the hall to Fred and George’s old room where he was staying, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and silently cursed his luck.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice spoke in the dimly-lit hall. 

He stopped and waited for her to catch up to him.

“Yeah,” he said, resigned. “What’s up, Gin?”

“Can I talk to you a moment?” she asked, her expression determined. 

“Of course,” Harry said, forcing himself to keep from grimacing, and continued to his room, with Ginny at his heels. 

They sat side by side on the edge of one of the twin beds. The room was lit by a pair of gas lamps mounted on the wall, and was empty but for a few boxes of Fred’s belongings George had brought home for the family to go through when they were ready. 

“So…” Harry started, his discomfort rising. 

“You know what I want to ask you, Harry,” Ginny said bluntly. “I’m only wondering why it has to be me to bring it up. Has something changed with us? Why have you avoided talking to me?”

Harry wrinkled his forehead, shutting his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to put what he needed to tell her without hurting her feelings or ruining his relationship with her family. 

“Look at me, Harry,” Ginny said sharply. “I know something’s going on in your head that you need to say to me. I’m here; I’m listening, so you may as well get on with it.”

She sounded resolute. It made Harry feel more horrible than before. 

“I … I don’t want to get back together, Gin,” he said finally, looking her in the eye, seeing the defiance reflected back at him. 

“I see,” she said, mouth drawn in frustration. “Am I going to find out why? Is it another bone-headed nobility thing about wanting to keep me safe?”

“No,” Harry answered. He swallowed, tasting the bitterness in his mouth. “You’re right; something has changed.” He stopped, thinking how to put what he had to say into proper words. 

Ginny waited for him to continue, not speaking, not rushing him, and not crying. He appreciated her strength now more than ever. 

“I was ready to die,” he began slowly. “I was walking to meet my own death with open arms, and I was incredibly thankful we had the time we did together. I realised how much life meant to me when I knew death was coming. I felt my soul fighting to live, and now...” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Now that I’ve come back from it... Now that I’ve fulfilled my purpose, and walked the path that was laid out for me so long ago, I realised it’s time for me to learn to live for who I am, and not who others think I should be. I can’t be with you any more. I love you; I do, but I’m … I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. I mean, I’m still me, but … there’s just something I’ve got to face if I’m ever going to be true to myself.”

He watched her take in his words, unable to read what she was thinking. 

She looked back into his eyes, a searching look, like she was trying to see if she could read him as well. 

“Right,” she said finally. “This secret, has it been a secret long, or is it something that happened to you since we were together?” Her voice had grown cold. It had a sharp edge to it that Harry really didn’t like to hear directed at him.

Harry was quiet a minute. He found it hard to look Ginny in the eye, but forced himself. “It’s always been a part of me,” he confessed, “but I tried to change. It’s something about who I am that I’ve denied my whole life, but I just _can’t_ any more.”

“Kiss me,” Ginny demanded suddenly, her voice taking on a no-nonsense, no-questions sort of tone.

“Um,” Harry hesitated. Had she misunderstood him when he said they couldn’t be together? He thought he’d made himself clear. “I … I don’t want to give you false hope, Gin. I’m serious…”

“Harry, shut up and do it!” she said bluntly. She spoke forcefully, making Harry think of Mrs. Weasley when she put her foot down about something. 

Harry leaned forwards, closing his eyes, and brushed their lips together briefly.

When he pulled back and opened his eyes again, Ginny was looking at him thoughtfully. “I think I understand,” she said, getting to her feet. 

Harry stood up as well. “You do? What do you understand?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

“Harry,” she said. “I’ve been with other blokes before, and I’ve been through _this_ before.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Merlin, I wonder if it’s me.”

“What?” Harry asked. “What are you talking about? Gin, are you all right?” He was worried, as she seemed to be holding herself at bay, as if she were about to lose control and hex his bollocks off. Guilt raced through his body, making his stomach churn.

“Tell me something, Harry,” she said at last, voice quivering, higher-pitched than normal. “And please don’t be upset, but I have to know the truth.”

He felt his pulse quicken, fear building under his skin. “What is it?”

“Are you gay?” she asked, looking him full in the face, eyes pleading for it not to be true.

He swallowed, preparing to speak, denial ready on his tongue, but she cut in before he could say anything.

“I thought so,” she murmured, her body going rigid with a barely-controlled hysteria. “All of the boys I’ve dated have seem to have gone over to their own team, and now you too.”

“Gin, I —” Harry started to protest.

“Don’t!” she shouted, cutting him off. She took a breath and lowered her voice: “I need some time to let this sink in. I can’t `… I can’t talk to you right now!”

“But I’m not ready … I didn’t even …” Harry struggled to explain himself.

“I know,” she said. “It’s not your fault, and I know it, but I … I need to help Mum in the kitchen. I’ll see you later.” 

She turned away from him and dashed to the door, hand on the knob.

“Please,” Harry cried. “Don’t say anything to —”

“My brothers?” she finished for him, head bowed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She looked back at him once more, pausing in the doorway. “It looks like we both have a few more battles to fight before we find a peaceful life. Goodnight, Harry.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

As the door clicked shut, Harry sank back down on the bed. He realised he wasn’t going to be able to stay at the Weasleys’ any longer. He lay back down, his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes. He longed for the future when all of his battles would be in his past. 

Opening his eyes a crack, he reached for his wand and pointed it at the lamps, extinguishing them. His eyes flew open in the dark as a thought occurred to him. _Dean Thomas and Michael Corner are gay?_

~x~

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy,” Dawlish’s voice echoed through the dark courtroom, whistling slightly, making the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. “After careful deliberation following the testimony of Harry James Potter,” he read from a scroll which rested on the table before him, “the Wizengamot has agreed to uphold the last wishes of Albus Dumbledore and to see that you are given a second chance at becoming a qualified member of our wizarding society. You will be released into your mother’s care for the duration of the summer under the supervision of Dark Detectors placed upon your residence by the Ministry of Magic. You will be expected to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, equipped with a limited-use, Ministry-issued wand to re-take your final year of your magical education and to sit your NEWTs. After one year has passed, the Wizengamot will reconvene to make a final judgement as to your freedom.”

Dawlish pushed the scroll to the side, apparently not personally satisfied with the court’s decision. He furrowed his bushy grey eyebrows and looked at Malfoy down his long nose. “I think you must realise that you have been granted a great deal of leniency, Mr. Malfoy. I advise you to thank the Wizengamot for their generosity, and to prove yourself worthy of their grace. This is your only chance, and you must _not_ mess it up.”

Malfoy stared coolly back into Dawlish’s eyes, his own face an unreadable mask. He gave a firm nod, and turned to the rows of benches where what was left of the Wizengamot sat looking down at him. He nodded towards them as well, and that was the extent of his response. 

Harry wondered what was going through Malfoy’s head right then. Why wasn’t he speaking? He knew Malfoy had the ability to appeal to people with social grace, but the prat wasn’t even pretending at remorse or trying to suck up at all. It boggled Harry’s mind.

He watched as Malfoy returned to focusing on his knees, and then noticed Kingsley taking Dawlish’s gavel away from him out of the corner of his eye. Kingsley appeared to be livid at Dawlish’s impromptu advice.

“Let this signify the end of these court proceedings until one year’s time,” Kingsley’s deep voice rumbled through the room, reverberating off the stone walls. He brought the gavel down with a sharp crack against the wood, and the members of the Wizengamot rose, talking animatedly amongst themselves as they shuffled out of the room. 

Narcissa Malfoy had been allowed to attend Draco’s sentencing. She sat, flanked on either side by a Ministry watch-wizard. The instant the gavel came down, she stood up, her tall figure glowing in her graceful pale blue robes illuminated by the torches. 

Harry felt Mr. Weasley squeeze his shoulder from behind and got to his feet, finally tearing his eyes away from the centre platform. He looked up into Mr. Weasley’s smiling face. 

“There you have it, Harry,” he said, giving Harry’s shoulder another squeeze. “You are affecting change already and I want you to know I am proud of you. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

Harry got to his feet, aware of the stiffness in his joints from sitting in tension for too long a period. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” he said.

“I think it would be prudent for you to give Mrs. Malfoy the opportunity to express her gratitude,” Mr. Weasley suggested. “I’ll wait for you in the hall outside, shall I?”

Harry agreed, though all he really wanted was to leave so he could gather his things at the Burrow and make the move to Grimmauld Place. 

He approached the platform, where Narcissa Malfoy watched an Auror release Malfoy from his chair. She looked at Harry as he drew near. 

Her expression was hidden behind the aristocratic poise she always displayed in public, though Harry could see the thankfulness in her eyes. 

“Mr. Potter,” she addressed him, extending a graceful hand. 

Harry took it, rather unsure whether he was expected to kiss it or shake it, but she spared him the confusion by gripping his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. 

“I want to thank you for your kindness in speaking up on mine and my son’s behalf. We wouldn’t have the liberties we do if it wasn’t for your testimony. I am eternally grateful.”

She released his hand, and pulled Malfoy to stand beside her. “Draco,” she said to her son. “Please show Mr. Potter your thanks.”

Malfoy’s eyes appeared tired, their grey colour subdued by the dark circles underlining them. He held himself stiffly, still proud as he extended a hand to Harry.

Harry looked at it, and hesitated, wondering if Malfoy felt the same significance in the gesture as he did. He took Malfoy’s hand and shook, feeling Malfoy’s cool dry palm against his own send a sensation of rightness flooding through his system, though Malfoy’s ring was so cold, it made Harry shiver. He felt like perhaps they were rewriting history and this was their starting point.

He saw Malfoy’s eyes widen a fraction of a second, before he released Harry’s hand. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you at school,” Harry said, feeling out of place before the haughty figures of the Malfoys. 

Malfoy acknowledged him with a quick nod, and then allowed his mother and the watch-wizards to lead him out of the courtroom.

~x~

Walking side by side with Mr. Weasley through the city streets of Muggle London, Harry’s thoughts were occupied with how he was going to tell the Weasleys that he would be leaving.

Mr. Weasley kept darting nervous glances at him, making him think the silence that hung between them was making Mr. Weasley uncomfortable.

“Ah,” Mr. Weasley said at last. “The Leaky Cauldron is right up ahead. I thought we’d stop and pick up George before we apparate home. Is that all right with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said absently. 

“Harry, I’m no Albus Dumbledore, but even I can see that something is troubling you. Would you care to talk about it? We could grab a butterbeer or something and have a chat.”

Harry looked up from watching his feet mindlessly moving forwards on the pavement. Mr. Weasley waited for his answer expectantly.

“Yeah,” he said, deciding that this might be his best opportunity to share his plans. And it would be easier if he didn’t have to do it in front of the entire family, fighting off their protests. “I could do with a drink.”

They made their way into the dingy pub and took a seat at a table by the window. Once they had their drinks in hand, Mr. Weasley gave Harry a smile and a wink. 

“You look like you could use some cheering up, and I think I have just the thing,” Mr. Weasley said, suddenly boisterous. “I had planned to let you find out with the rest of the family at dinner tonight, but I can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

Harry’s interest was piqued. “What is it?” he asked, feeling warmed by the excitement rolling off Mr. Weasley. 

“Molly is going to be receiving an Order of Merlin, First Class,” Mr. Weasley said proudly. “For her defeat of Bellatrix Lestrange during the battle. You know as well as I do that if anybody deserves a bit of recognition, my wife is at the top of the list.”

Harry smiled despite his melancholy. “That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed. “Really brilliant! It’s about time the Ministry put itself to doing some good.”

Mr. Weasley nodded, still beaming. “Yes, I have to agree. With Kingsley Shacklebolt in charge I expect to see great changes begin to happen for everyone.”

Harry took a sip from his butterbeer and decided that it was now or never. He set the bottle on the table and met Mr. Weasley’s eyes. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, watching as Mr. Weasley grew more subdued, his brow creasing in concern.

“I’m going to be moving into Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer,” Harry explained. He saw Mr. Weasley prepare to protest, but held up his hand and went on, refusing to be put off until he’d said what he needed to. “I’m grateful to you and your family for everything, but what I really need is some space to… sort of get my head on straight. I’m planning on leaving tonight.”

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, pausing a moment to make sure Harry wasn’t going to interrupt. “I know things have been iffy between you and Ron with all of this Malfoy business, but, speaking as a father of many sons, disagreements are a part of life and running away from them never solved anything.”

Harry was confused. He raised an eyebrow. “This has nothing to do with Ron,” he said. “Ron has every right to feel as he does about Malfoy. I understand that and I don’t have a problem with it. We’ve sort of agreed to not talk about it. I’m pretty sure Ron understands why I felt the need to testify even if he doesn’t agree with me.”

“Oh?” Mr. Weasley said, puzzled. “Is it something to do with Ginny then? You know, your parents didn’t get on at all until their final year at Hogwarts. Little spats and arguments are perfectly normal in the …’

“No,” Harry interrupted. He really didn’t want to be reminded of how the Weasleys seemed to think he and Ginny were carbon copies of his parents. “I’m not my parents, and this doesn’t have anything to do with Ginny either,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “I need some time away from everybody else, to come to terms with what’s happened in my life so far. I won’t be alone; Kreacher will be there with me and I’ll welcome visitors. I plan on being present for the Hogwarts restoration, so it’s not like I’m cutting myself off entirely. You can understand, can’t you, that after all that has happened, I just need some space?”

Mr. Weasley’s expression, while not pleased, was at least not offended either. “Well, yes. I can see your point.” He rubbed his bald patch on his head absently. “I suppose I can respect your decision. You are of age, after all. But I want to really make it clear to you that we consider you part of the family, Harry. The last thing I want is to lose you to the world. You’re always welcome in our house.”

Harry smiled gratefully. It cheered him immensely to hear what he’d always dreamed of as a child: that he was accepted and wanted, rather than shunned and ignored.

“Thanks, honestly, Mr. Weasley,” he said. “That means a lot to me.”

“You know you can call me Arthur,” Mr. Weasley said, after a moment’s pause. “Let’s go and fetch George now. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to help you move your things after dinner. Oh … You are planning to stay for dinner? Molly’s going to share the news with everyone and it wouldn’t be right if you weren’t there.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll stay for dinner.”

~x~

The atmosphere at the Burrow was filled with jubilation at Mrs. Weasley’s announcement.

Harry grinned happily, chatting with Ron and George while she prodded them all to take a third helping. Ginny was the only one in the room that seemed to not be enjoying herself. 

Harry tried not to notice her avoidance of him as she deliberately interacted with her parents so as not to have to talk to him. She was also keen to help with the dishes, and tidy up afterwards, which was unusual for her. He felt the loss of her presence in the game of gobstones he was enjoying with Ron and George astutely, but made an effort to appear to be enjoying himself.

“What’s got into Gin?” George whispered suddenly over the gameboard so only Harry and Ron could hear him. “She’s acting odd tonight.”

Ron shrugged, popping a biscuit into his mouth as he tallied his score. “Dunno,” he said, crumbs littering his crossed legs. “Looks like I’m one up. One more round and I’ll have you beat!” he said, swallowing at last. 

Harry found it harder to pretend to be happy now that more people were aware of the coldness Ginny was displaying. 

The final round of the game ended as four tawny barn owls flew through the open kitchen window and landed on the back of the sofa in the sitting room. 

The Weasleys were just as surprised as Harry to be receiving owls at such a late hour. “Oh, they’re from Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley announced, untying the letter from one of the owls’ legs. “This one is for Harry.” He handed Harry the letter, and set about to passing the rest to Ron and Ginny. When he untied the fourth letter, however, he looked confusedly at the name on the envelope. “Molly?” he called up the stairs, as Mrs. Weasley had taken a load of washing up to the tub. 

She came down shortly, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. 

“You have a letter from Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley told her, passing it over. 

Harry hadn’t opened his letter, as he was planning to leave in a few minutes, but Ron and Ginny had opened theirs and Ron was moaning about why it was necessary for him to have to go back to school now that he was of age. 

“What’s it say, Mum?” George quipped, ignoring Ron.

Harry watched her break the seal, smiling amusedly. “Well there’s only one way to find out. I wonder if …” 

She trailed off as she read the letter, then looked up at Mr. Weasley, slightly troubled. “Arthur, I’d like a word in private, please,” she said, then turned, smiling at the rest of them. “It’s nothing concerning you lot,” she said, pleasantly. “Personal matters,” she said with a wink, making Ron groan. Then she turned to Harry.

“Harry,” she said, holding him close to her bosom in a hug. “You take care now. Remember that if you want to come back, even for a night or two, our house is open to you. And take care that you feed yourself on a regular basis. I don’t want to find you’ve gone and wasted away because I took my eyes off you.”

Harry smiled, hugging her back. The scent of her perfume and the weight of her arms around him made him feel as wanted and loved as if he were one of her own. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll take care of myself.”

She smiled at him once more and turned to her children. “George, you help Harry get his things moved, and Ron and Ginny, I expect the noise level to drop in an hour, understand?”

They nodded, muttering about her habit of directing their lives as if they were chessmen under their breaths, but she didn’t seem to hear as she followed Mr. Weasley up the stairs. 

Harry grabbed his rucksack and the replacement Firebolt he’d bought himself in Diagon Alley the previous weekend. “I’ve really got it all, George,” he said. “I tend to travel light.”

“Don’t even think about it, mate,” George said, an eyebrow cocked. “You think I’m going to chance getting in a row with her,” he said, jerking his head towards the stairs, “if she finds out I didn’t come along to make sure you made in one piece?” 

Harry laughed. “Right. How stupid of me. Come and see me at Grimmauld, Ron,” Harry said, grinning. “I’ll have Kreacher clear out the spiders and things.”

Ron smiled widely. “Count on it.” He put his letter on the table. “Hey where’d Ginny get off to?”

Harry shrugged. He had seen her slip through the kitchen door the moment her mother had left the room, but he hadn’t wanted to draw any attention to it. 

“Well, it’s all right,” Harry said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I’ll catch up with her at the restoration. It’s not like I’m moving to Bulgaria or anything.”

He and George made their way through the gnome-infested garden, George pausing to toss one of the little potato-shaped creatures over a hedge when it tried to bite his ankle. They reached the edge of the property and turned on the spot, disapparating with two small _pops_.

~x~

Harry was secretly relieved to have George with him when he climbed the steps of number 12. He hadn’t returned to the house since Yaxley had got in and he wasn’t sure what sort of state it would be in when he arrived.

“Need a hand with anything?” George asked once they crossed the threshold into the hall. The jinxes Moody had put up against Snape had apparently broken, and nothing stirred in the dust on the floor. 

“I think I can manage,” Harry said, turning to look at the disarray. The drawing room had been ransacked, and furniture lay overturned, cushions ripped open; feathered down blanketed piles of random objects like a fluffy layer of snow. “I just need to check… Er, Kreacher?” he called. 

Kreacher appeared before him in an instant with the customary loud _crack_. It woke the portrait of Sirius’s mother. 

The hall rang with her shrieks. _“Mudbloods, filth, stain on the house of my fathers!”_

“On that note,” George said, offering Harry a salute. “I’m off. See ya at Hogwarts, mate.” 

He left as Harry forced her curtains closed with his wand.

“What can Kreacher be doing for Master Harry?” Kreacher asked, his bullfrog voice croaking as he bowed low. 

Harry was pleased to see that he had continued with his improved hygiene. The fake Horcrux locket gleamed with fresh polish on Kreacher’s thin chest. 

“How are you, Kreacher?” Harry asked fondly. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time for a chat since the battle.”

Kreacher gave Harry an appraising look, his heavily wrinkled forehead creasing further. “Kreacher is well, Master,” he said. “Kreacher wants to know if Master Harry has come home to stay this time.”

“I have,” Harry answered. “I was hoping you could help me tidy up a bit,” he said, glancing quickly again at the travesty that had been the drawing room. “Is the entire house as bad as it is in here?” 

Kreacher nodded his head heavily. “The Death Eaters came in while Kreacher was cooking in the kitchen,” Kreacher explained. “Kreacher heard them, and Kreacher watched as they destroyed my mistress’s house. But when Kreacher realised Master Harry and his friends were not in immediate danger, Kreacher returned to Hogwarts. Kreacher fought the Death Eaters with the Hogwarts house-elves for what they did to the noble house of Black, and Kreacher was proud of his master when he defeated the Dark Lord once and for all.”

Kreacher stopped talking and wandered away from Harry to examine the state of the room up close. He turned back. “Master Harry, Kreacher wonders if Master would allow Kreacher to ask for some assistance from the Hogwarts house-elves. This job is too much for Kreacher to do alone at his age.”

“Of course, Kreacher. I don’t want to put you out, and I’m planning on doing my own share of the work.”

Kreacher reached out and took Harry’s hand in his own small one. His skin was paper-thin and saggy, though he was warm to the touch. 

“Master Harry is not to be doing any of the work,” Kreacher said insistently. “Master needs his rest for the restoration of Hogwarts.”

Another loud _crack_ rang through the room like a gunshot, but fortunately Harry had thought to close the drawing-room door, so the portrait of Sirius’s mother didn’t awaken again. 

Another small elf bowed low before Harry, wearing a starched white tea towel emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. He looked to be barely an adult, though Harry really didn’t know much about the life cycles of house-elves. He spoke with a squeaky voice. 

“Dipsy has received Kreacher’s summons, Harry Potter, sir,” Dipsy said at once. “The Hogwarts house-elves is delighted to be offering their services to you for the night.”

Dipsy stood up and took hold of Harry’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “Harry Potter must be sleeping now,” Dipsy said firmly. “So Dipsy and Kreacher and the others can work. Harry Potter’s bed is made up with clean sheets for sleeping in,” Dipsy went on, and Harry allowed himself, bemused, to be dragged up the stairs to Sirius’s old room. 

Dipsy pushed him through the open door. “Sleep now, Harry Potter.”

“Er — yeah. Thanks,” Harry stammered, and Dipsy closed the door in his face. 

“Kreacher?” he called again and was instantly joined by Kreacher, who had his ears tied up with an elastic band to keep them out of his eyes, fluffy white hair stuck out of his ears making it look as though he was wearing ear muffs. 

“Yes, Master?” Kreacher croaked. 

“Um — You’re in charge of the clean-up, Kreacher,” Harry said, yawning. A thought came to his mind as he heard Mrs. Black’s shrieks from floors below. “Oh, and Kreacher, there’s something else I’d like to ask of you. I’d like you to have Regulus’s old room to stay in.”

At his words, Kreacher sank to his knees, his large round eyes filling with tears. He looked ridiculous with his ears tied up, like an ugly child with a grotesque ponytail giving in to the need for a long cry. 

“I’d like it if you could make it…” He thought quickly, trying to word what he wanted properly so Kreacher wouldn’t think he was asking him to live in a storage room. “Make it a shrine,” he invented, “to the Black legacy. Take the Black family tree and your mistress’s portrait, if you can move it, and everything else in the house that celebrates the Black family and display it proudly in there. Can you do that for me?”

Kreacher was so overcome with emotion, he couldn’t answer. He burst into tears, and sobbed for several minutes, hiccoughing and nodding, so Harry at least knew he wasn’t displeased with the instructions.

Harry wondered if he’d made a mistake, as Kreacher rocked back and forth on the filthy carpet on his knees, crocodile tears leaking from his eyes. He readied himself to retract his words, when Kreacher finally stopped crying and climbed to his feet. 

“You is a good wizard, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, wiping his leaking nose on the back of his hand. “Kreacher thanks you. Now get some sleep.” He disappeared with another loud _crack_.

Relief coursed through Harry’s veins. His entire body ached with fatigue as he looked at the crisp white sheets laid out on Sirius’s old bed. He stripped off and quickly got under the covers, claimed by sleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

~x~

When he next became aware, he heard whispering voices, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

He sat up. His body felt rested for the first time in ages. He didn’t even recall having any dreams. 

Two sets of pointed ears were just visible over the edge of his mattress, and he crawled forwards to see Kreacher and Dipsy whispering to each other. They looked up at him with their comically huge round eyes.

It was then that he took stock of what had once been Sirius’s room. 

The change was remarkable. The old grey silk had been torn from the walls, along with the posters of the bikini-clad Muggle girls. The walls glistened with a fresh coat of eggshell-white paint, making the room look larger than it already was and pristine in its cleanliness. 

He looked to see that the large wooden wardrobe had been polished and restored and there wasn’t a hint of dust anywhere. Lying atop the bedside table was the photograph of the Marauders in their heyday in the Hogwarts grounds. 

He picked it up, eyes instantly soaking up the image of his father, younger than Harry was now.

“It looks brilliant in here!” he told the elves enthusiastically. “Thank you for your hard work!”

Dipsy bowed quickly. “Harry Potter needs to be seeing the rest of the house and Dipsy is telling him that breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. Dipsy needs to be going to join the others at Hogwarts now, but Kreacher can show Harry Potter to his breakfast.”

“Wait, Dipsy,” Harry said, overcome. 

The little elf stopped, having been preparing to Disapparate, and looked at Harry through wide eyes. 

“How can I pay —”

Dipsy shut his eyes tight at the sound of the word “pay” and Harry knew he’d forgotten himself. 

“No, no, no, Harry Potter,” Dipsy said, stamping his foot. “There is no paying for Dipsy. Dipsy is an honourable elf that is not accepting paying!”

“Wait. That’s not what I meant,” Harry amended at once. “I meant to say I want to show my gratitude to Hogwarts for my appreciation of …” He racked his brain, looking for the words. “Of how nobly you defended it during the battle. Not just you,” he corrected himself again, when it appeared Dipsy was growing offended. “Not just you, but all the house-elves. You showed true dedication to Hogwarts that day and I want to honour Hogwarts for having such good and reliable house-elves in its service.”

Dipsy peered at Harry through his fingers, as he’d covered his eyes with his hands. “If it is to be a gift to Hogwarts, that is acceptable, Harry Potter,” Dipsy said, calming down. He dropped his hands. “Dipsy is saying goodbye now.” With another loud _crack_ , he was gone.

~x~

On his way down to the kitchen, Harry marvelled at the change that had settled over the house. The ancient peeling wallpaper in the hall had been torn down and the wall shone with a fresh coat of rose-coloured paint, making the house look as clean and tidy as Aunt Petunia kept her kitchen.

Harry followed Kreacher as the elf led him down the stairs, stopping occasionally to pop his head into rooms to sneak a peek. When they reached the kitchen, Harry’s stomach growled loudly at the scent of freshly-cooked bacon wafting through its open door. He stepped inside and took a seat at the now-polished wooden table laden with bacon, scones and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. 

“You elves have really outdone yourselves,” Harry told Kreacher. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Kreacher gave Harry a curious look, eyes widening slightly with disbelief. “Kreacher has had his breakfast, thank you, Master Harry,” his deep voice croaked, coming out a little deeper than usual with what Harry suspected was emotion.

The doorbell rang. Harry stood up, his mouth full. 

“Kreacher will get the door, Master,” Kreacher said, and Disapparated.

Harry sat back down, swallowed, and took a long drink from his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Wow,” Ron’s voice said from the stairs, coming ever closer. He arrived at the kitchen. “Have you been at this all night? I hardly recognise the place. Was afraid I’d called at the wrong number, but for Kreacher answering the door.”

Harry grinned at him. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” he said, pulling the chair beside him out for Ron to sit. “Come on, have some breakfast with me.”

Ron’s face went pale at the suggestion, and he dropped into the empty chair. “I think I’m good,” he said, sighing. “There’s something I want to tell you, Harry. Something that’s been weighing on my mind for a while now.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering what was coming. He didn’t have the energy for another row, but considering Ron was not exuding a dark mood, he figured he’d hear him out.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“It’s … It’s about Hermione,” Ron said, after a deep breath. “You know she’s returning today for the restoration. She’s found her parents and returned their memories. I guess she’s had quite a lot of explaining to do to get them to see that she’d done the only thing she could have to keep them safe.”

Harry wiped his mouth and hands with his napkin. “So what’s troubling you?” 

“Well,” Ron said, face turning a shade of pink. “Look there.” He placed a small square box on the table in front of Harry. 

Harry opened it to find a lovely ring set with a small red stone, which sparkled against the gold band. He looked up at Ron’s watching face. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?” Harry asked with a smirk.

Ron’s face went scarlet as he snatched the ring back. “Not funny, mate,” he said seriously. “It’s for Hermione. I’m going to ask her. I want to do it before somebody else does, well, and I dunno. It feels like the right thing to do, you know? But I’m all nerves. What if she says no? Merlin, what if she says yes?” He stared at the ring in its box, slumping a bit, lost in thought.

“Have some bacon,” Harry offered again, pushing the plate of bacon so it sat right under Ron’s nose. He thought about saying something about how young they were and marriage seemed like an awfully huge step, but kept his thoughts to himself when he remembered how young his own parents had been when they married.

“Nah, I can’t eat,” Ron exclaimed, giving a forlorn sigh. 

“You know she’s not going to say no,” Harry added, taking a slice of bacon off the plate and popping it into his own mouth. 

“Why am I so nervous?” Ron continued, as if he was having the conversation with himself. “We’d be brilliant together. It’s just now that the war is over and everything, it really puts things into perspective, you know? What if something happened to one of us, and I never asked her?” He stopped, eyes drawn to the plate below him. “Well, maybe one slice,” he said, taking three and shoving them into his mouth. He chewed a moment, eyes closed with enjoyment. “Mmmm, ’s’good,” he said, swallowing. He opened his eyes again and looked at Harry. “Well, what about you?” 

“What about me?” Harry asked, bemused. 

“Well,” Ron explained. “Now that the war is over and all. Are you going to get back together with Ginny or what? It’s all right with me if you do.”

Harry watched as Ron fed himself more bacon before answering. “Yeah, um, about that … Gin and I have had a talk, and we’re not getting back together,” Harry said, carefully measuring his friend’s reaction. 

Ron seemed close to choking on his bacon as he struggled to finish chewing and swallowing. “Why the hell not? Don’t you like her? You’ve been leading her on this whole past year!”

Harry felt his defences rise. “No I haven’t,” he insisted. “Not on purpose, anyway. I love Ginny, Ron; you know I do, but really it’s not … I’m not … I just need some time, yeah? Besides, we are all really young still. I don’t think rushing into marriage is in my best interest right now.”

Ron appeared to relax, appeased by Harry’s words. “I get it,” he said, nodding. “It’s been a hell of a year for all of us. You need some time. Yeah, I can understand that.”

“So when were you planning to ask Hermione?” Harry asked, nudging Ron in the side with his elbow. It seemed to do the trick of getting Ron’s mind off Harry and Ginny. 

“Merlin!” Ron exclaimed. “When should I? How? Where? I’m pants at this.” He looked ill again, and was tugging at his hair absently, and slumping in his seat.

Harry didn’t know the first thing about romance or what to say to somebody who was planning to get married. He hoped one day to be able to experience the same thing, but for now was satisfied with finding himself and making his way in the world. 

“Um, have you thought about talking to Bill?” Harry suggested. “He’s the only person I can think of that may have something productive to offer you. I’m pants at relationships too.”

Ron looked up, his face suddenly happy and hopeful. “Harry, you’re a genius! I _will_ talk to Bill about it.” He picked up the last three slices of bacon and bit the ends off them, chewing thoughtfully. 

Harry poured himself another glass of pumpkin juice and sat comfortably quiet, listening to Ron eat. 

Ron stood up, his confidence restored. “So I’ll see you at Hogwarts later today then?” he asked.

“I will be there as soon as I’ve had a shower.”

~x~

The atmosphere at Hogwarts that afternoon was filled with a mixture of emotions. Harry was pleased to see that all walks of life were contributing to the rebuilding effort. House-elves worked their magic side-by-side with wizards. Firenze was the only centaur helping, but he used his strong back and legs to haul heavy loads he pulled in a cart. Grawp and Hagrid collaborated in moving rubble away from the castle, and when he stopped to have lunch under the beech tree, taking a break with George, he saw that even the mer-people were pitching in by bringing blasted pieces of wreckage up from where they littered the lake, placing it on the shore for easy disposal.

“How are you holding up, George?” Harry asked, unwrapping a roast beef sandwich Kreacher had packed for him before he’d left. 

George sat with his back against the tree, not eating, but watching the tentacles of the giant squid make ripples in the surface of the water. 

“I’ve been better,” George said quietly, as if he had trouble admitting it was hard to be present in the place he’d lost his twin. “But Fred wouldn’t have wanted me to dwell on being gloomy, you know? I feel like I owe it to him to go out there and live twice as hard and have twice as much fun as a normal person. Like, I’ll live for him. I know that’s what I’d have wanted if it had been me.” He fell silent. 

Harry nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “He’ll always be alive in you. The ones we love never truly leave us, they just change form a bit until we go and join them.” He thought of Sirius then, feeling his loss all over again.

George cracked a sly smile at Harry. “So, now that you’ve reached enlightenment, oh wise one…” he started, but Harry shut him up with a friendly kick to his foot. 

“Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall’s voice called from behind them, making them both turn to see her draw closer. She walked with a staff now and a slight limp, though she held herself as rigid and proud as ever. 

“Hello, Mr. Weasley,” she said, when she saw George. “Thank you both for contributing to the rebuilding process.” She turned back to Harry. “I hoped I could have a word with you in my office, Potter. Sometime before we retire for the night at any rate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed at once. “No problem. I’ll come up and talk to you as soon as I finish my lunch.”

She gave him a sharp nod, but smiled warmly, looking out at the shore where the mer-people were busily piling rubble. “Albus would have loved to have lived to see this,” she said. “To see everybody putting aside their differences and taking up together for a common purpose.” She stopped talking, and dabbed at her eyes beneath her square spectacles with a small lace handkerchief. 

Harry and George watched her retreating figure head back to the castle, over the sloping grounds.

~x~

After he’d finished his sandwich, Harry and George walked back up to the castle together; George stopped to join those working on restoring the Great Hall, and Harry headed up the stairs to Professor McGonagall’s office.

He passed Slughorn and Flitwick on his way up as they worked together to replace a section of wall that had been demolished. Harry smiled to see that Slughorn was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his balding head, and his robes hanging loosely from his shoulders. 

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress's office had been restored. It recognised Harry and allowed him through without a password. 

He walked up the circular staircase, no longer moving, and knocked on McGonagall’s door. 

“Enter,” she called from within. 

He stepped inside and took stock of what had once been Dumbledore’s, and then Snape’s office. Dumbledore’s portrait slumbered behind the high-backed chair McGonagall was sitting in, and Snape’s portrait sat between him and Phineas Nigellus, not sleeping, but pointedly _not_ acknowledging Harry’s presence either. 

Most of Dumbledore’s silver instruments and trinkets had been put away, and in their places, on the small tables littering the circular room, were tartan tablecloths and potted plants. He noticed the stone pensieve was back in its cabinet as well. 

“Good, you’re here, Potter,” McGonagall said in her no-nonsense tone. “As you may have guessed, Hogwarts will be run a bit differently this year. We’ve decided to accept back all students who have not yet sat their NEWTs for another opportunity, and thus, these eighth-year students, as we’re calling them, will be housed apart from the rest of the school.”

Harry wrinkled his brow confused. “But, won’t that —” he started, but she cut in over his words.

“We think it will be best to give the eighth-years more privacy as you are all of legal age, and I expect, having all the houses in your year living together, that you will spearhead the change I want to see come over the student body. Inter-house cooperation must be promoted. We’ve chosen not to do away with Sorting entirely, because it has proven useful in helping students succeed to be with like-minded peers, but I do not want to see a return of the Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Harry answered at once. “Absolutely.”

“Very good, Potter,” she said, her stern face relaxing a fraction. “The other issue I’d like to address with you is the Christmas festivities we have planned. It will be similar to the Yule Ball we held in your fourth year, but the focus will be on honouring those who gave their lives for our freedom.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “I’d also like to contribute some Galleons to create a memorial,” he said. “And I’d like to honour the house-elves for coming to Hogwarts’ aid. They didn’t have to fight, but they chose to, and I think they should be represented.”

McGonagall chuckled softly. “I see you and Miss Granger have been plotting together,” she said. “She was in here not ten minutes ago suggesting the same thing.”

Harry started. “Hermione’s here? She’s back?” He wanted to jump out of his chair and go and find her at once, but was stilled by McGonagall’s stern eyes focusing on him once again. 

“Can I count on you to speak at the dedication ceremony, Harry? Just a small speech that will promote the prospect of all of us working together to build a better wizarding world?”

“Of course. I’ll get Hermione help me write it,” he added as an aside, watching her face soften a bit. “She’ll make sure I don’t make an idiot of myself.”

“Thank you,” McGonagall said, smiling warmly at him. She extended her hand across the large desk and Harry gripped it and shook. “Go on and catch up with your friends.”

~x~

That night Ron and Hermione joined Harry at Grimmauld Place. As much as it felt like old times to hang out with his friends, Harry couldn’t help but feel like an outsider as they sat in the drawing room after dinner, curled together on the sofa enjoying their newly-engaged status.

Harry watched the flames in the hearth turning the log in the fire to coals. He stood up and stretched, looking at his friends in their domestic bliss. 

“Well, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” he said, itching to flee.

Hermione turned to look at him, smiling happily. She peeled herself from Ron’s side and embraced Harry, squeezing tightly. “We’ll see you in the morning. I’m so glad we’re all together again.”

Harry patted her back and grinned at Ron, who looked like he’d been hit over the head with a bludger, he was so vacantly happy.

“Take care,” he said, and retreated to Sirius’s old room.

~x~

Several weeks later, the restoration of Hogwarts had entered its final stage. Harry returned to Grimmauld Place for the last time before the new term was to begin.

He was tired and sore and incredibly horny. It had been hot as hell that day, and working alongside Bill and Charlie as they moved new furnishings into a previously unused classroom on the first floor, having discarded their shirts some time before, had offered Harry’s imagination plenty of wanking material. 

He dug through his trunk, searching for the magazine he had acquired earlier that summer when he’d had a chance to get off to a Muggle shop on his own. He found it and pulled it out, flinging himself on his stomach on the bed, the magazine spread out before him. 

He flipped through a few pages, eyes lingering on the title of an article he had already read: _Finding Your Prostate, Finding Your Pleasure_. Reading that article had been an eye-opening experience. He’d spent the last few weeks exploring, but now, he wanted to experience the real deal. 

He turned a few more pages and found the picture he was looking for. Harry’s mouth went dry as he stared at the photo of a fit young man with blond hair, standing in the shower, with water streaming down his lithe muscles while he held his cock in a soapy hand, giving the camera a seductive smirk. 

Harry knew Kreacher had stayed on at Hogwarts to help with the last of the start-of-term preparations, so the house was his alone and he needn’t worry about being interrupted. He stripped off as quickly as he could and propped the magazine open with a sticking charm to the bedside table, allowing his hands to eagerly roam his own body. 

Lying back against the pillows, he stared at the glossy photo, wishing it was a wizarding picture so he could pretend that he and the man in it were watching each other while they chased a common goal. 

Focusing on the hard lines of muscle in the model’s body, Harry’s hand moved over his chest, making his nipples stand to attention. He fought the impulse to jerk himself to completion and be done with it quickly. He forced himself to concentrate on the sensations his hands were making him feel. One hand slipped down to his cock, teasing the head where it peeked out from beneath his foreskin, a sigh escaping his mouth.

Admitting he was gay had been a hard truth to accept, but now that he had, he realised exactly how much he still needed to learn. He could feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs as he considered what he wanted to do. The magazine had explained the need for lubrication and the importance of preparation. 

The hand on his chest slipped down past his bollocks. He opened his legs, knees bent to give himself room as his finger gently prodded the entrance to his body. 

Harry focused again on the man in the photo, imagining wantonly preparing himself on the slippery floor of the shower for the man to watch, readying himself to be taken. He groaned at the thought, bringing his erection to full hardness with sure strokes. He pushed one of the fingers on his other hand inside to the first knuckle, teeth gritting at the slight burn. 

Temporarily abandoning his activities, Harry reached into the bedside table drawer to see what he could find to use as lube, but the only thing in there was Draco Malfoy’s old wand, kept safely in a leather sleeve he’d picked up in Diagon Alley. 

Rationalising that the wand belonged to him now, and he was free to use it however he wanted, he drew it out, recalling the spell Mrs. Weasley had taught him to produce cooking oil by magic. He coated his fingers with the stuff and set the wand beside his own on the bed, resuming his position. 

He pushed one finger inside again, eased by the oil, and closed his eyes, this time imagining his fingers belonged to the man in the photo. He felt the flush on his face grow as he twisted the finger, pushing in deeper as he sought the elusive prostate he’d read about. 

His breath caught as he brushed _something_ with his fingertip. It sent a jolt of pleasure racing through his body, but dissipated quickly. He added another finger in his quest to find it again, but winced as his rim was stretched too much too fast. 

He grabbed his wand again and repeated the spell, slicking his hand with oil. He braced himself, pushing two fingers inside, starting slow, and stretching the opening with small twists. He forced himself to relax, to accept the intrusion. If people did this with cocks, a few fingers shouldn’t be too hard to handle; he just had to figure out how to do it safely. 

He fucked himself on his fingers, pushing in a little deeper each time until he found that spot again. It chased away the feelings of discomfort, and sent his mind reeling. 

His eyes flew open and landed on the photo again, wanting to wipe the smirk off the model’s face and turn his expression to one of pure _want_. 

He twisted and crooked his fingers more, drawing them out, eager to add a third. He pushed in with three, eager to find his prostate again, and withdrew halfway, panting, tears forming in his eyes. 

He could do this, Harry told himself, easing back in with two fingers, working at stretching himself and relaxing, and stretching again. 

Breathing heavily, he brushed his thumb over the head of his cock, fucking into his fist while he added the third finger again, slowly this time. 

It was a brilliant feeling of fullness he was experiencing. Harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to just feel, to be present under the onslaught of sensation. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down from the backs of his knees while he alternated moving his hips between thrusting upwards into his fist, and back as his other hand plugged him. 

Harry forced himself to slow down when he opened his eyes and spots floated in his vision; his glasses slid down his nose with perspiration. He tore them off his face, tossing them aside on the bed, while his mind told him he was ready for something more, something bigger. He dropped his hand to his side, finding the handle of a wand. He brought it up close to his face, studying it, his fingers brushing his prostate again, making him groan as the idea took form. Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed angrily in his mind’s eye, sealing his decision.

Harry withdrew his hand, wiping the slickness on his thigh, making the hairs on his leg stick together in a wet trail. His breathing came in shallow pants as he reached for his own wand, and pointed it at the hawthorn one that had belonged to Draco Malfoy.

He thought of Malfoy as he transfigured the wand into the replica of an erect cock. It was rubbery in his hand, though the core kept it rigid. It was flesh-coloured and long, though not as thick as his own erection. Harry was impressed by his own spellwork in how anatomically accurate he had made his new toy.

Curious, Harry opened his mouth and slid the dildo inside a couple of inches, closing his eyes and pretending it was attached to its former owner. He imagined Malfoy’s arrogant voice telling him to suck it, commanding him to take it in deeper, to get it wet and ready because he was going to use it to fuck Harry’s brains out. 

Harry’s jaw started to ache and he gagged when he let it slip inside too far, bringing the taste of stomach acid up to sour his mouth. Too much, too soon, he figured, and pulled it back out. 

The hand holding his wand trembled. Harry was growing weak with desire and _needed_ to experience the sensation of being fucked at long last. He murmured the spell to produce oil over the head of the dildo and put his wand down again, bringing his knees up to his chest to open himself up as much as he could.

The angle was all wrong, and it was frustrating. He rubbed his erection back to full hardness by sliding the slick dildo against it, closing his eyes, pretending he and Malfoy were grinding against each other. 

Harry turned onto his side and lifted his top leg, positioning the dildo at his entrance with a contorted arm. He pushed the head inside himself, drawing a quick hiss of breath at the pain of the breach. His face broke out in a sweat, cock leaking copiously onto the duvet, but he persevered, pulling the dildo back out and pushing it in again slowly, forcing himself to relax around it.

The sensation of fullness was strange and threatened to overwhelm him. His breath hitched as his body took it in, accepting the intrusion at last. Harry’s arm was getting tired, but he felt that if he just kept at it, the orgasm he would achieve would blow his mind. 

After a few more pushes, his eyes focused on the holly wand, and he thought to himself that there had to be a spell he could use to get the dildo to fuck him while leaving his hands free. 

And then it came to him. He picked up his wand with his free hand, though it was angled awkwardly, and pointed it at the dildo in his arse. He cast the charm he’d learned during the Hogwarts restoration to cause a hammer to hover and pound in a row of nails.

“Nggh!” he gasped as the dildo took to the charm and began thrusting inside his arse with a rhythmic pounding. He struggled to get on his knees, his hands gripping the headboard to stabilise himself against the onslaught. He could barely think as he commanded himself to relax around the merciless toy. He thought of Malfoy again, shuddering. He imagined Malfoy positioned behind him, gripping his hips with bruisingly tight fingers and fucking Harry with angry grunts.

Harry could practically hear Malfoy’s voice in his head. _Like that, Potter? Admit it! You’re gagging for my cock! You’re made for this — taking Death Eater cock like the whore you are!_

The fullness inside him stretched him to the point of pain, but the pleasure he felt, as the head of the dildo battered his prostate, blended the sensations into a pure, overwhelming sensation of highness. Lights popped behind his eyes, and he could barely think to stroke himself to completion before he flew over the edge. 

He came with a groan, painting the duvet with long thick white stripes, and nearly passed out from the effort of catching his breath. A moment passed before Harry realised he was still being fucked by the dildo mercilessly pounding into him. He picked up his wand in a clammy hand and ended the spell with a whispered: “ _Finite._ ”

The dildo slipped from his aching backside, and Harry went limp with exhaustion. It took all his will to clean up the mess and return Malfoy’s wand to its usual form. He crawled beneath the warm sheets and rolled over. He extinguished the candle-lit chandelier with his wand and put both wands, his glasses, and the magazine into the bedside table drawer, hands trembling out of his control. 

He was left with a disconnected sense of floating. The orgasm had blasted him right out of his body, making him feel like his consciousness was hovering halfway between his physical form and breaking away to float somewhere near the ceiling. 

He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him, while his arse continued to throb. His whole body thrummed with the tingling sensation of coming down from an intense high.

Harry wondered if Malfoy would be willing to put aside their history and to start over this year. He doubted it, but still hoped, longing for a change to come over the entire wizarding world, and for Voldemort’s influence to be wiped clean. It was a pipe dream, and Harry knew it, but he held it close to his heart, swearing to himself in his last moments of consciousness that he would do his utmost to be the “better man” and to give this coming year a chance to prove that change was possible, if only to himself.

~x~

Harry packed his trunk the following morning as he prepared to leave for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, his backside twinging from the previous night’s wank. He didn’t regret doing it, however. His main regret lay in having led Ginny on, in allowing her to hope they would create a future together even though he’d never really seen himself having a future. The assumption that he would die trying to finish Voldemort had made his actions seem noble at the time, though now that he had lived to tell the tale, he realised how selfish he had been.

So, making amends to Ginny was another item he added to the “to-be-rectified” list he was creating in his head. 

The ride to Hogwarts was awkward. Harry had barely set a foot through the barrier leading to the platform before he was ambushed by people. Reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ were crowding around the barrier, taking his photograph and directing their quills to record his every move. 

Fortunately Ron, George and Hermione spotted his plight and came to his aid, driving the reporters and well-wishers back using Shield Charms and threatening them with hexes if they tried to circumvent them. 

He made his way to the compartment Ron and Hermione had selected, trying not to grimace as he walked. He sat down at last in a window seat and closed his eyes, thankful for having made it onto the train in one piece. 

“Hello, Harry,” Ginny’s voice said, making him start and wince as his arse complained at the sudden movement.

“Gin!” he said, surprised. She was sitting opposite him and he wondered if she had come in immediately after he had, or if he had really not noticed her when he sat down. 

“How are you?” she asked, fixing him with a steady gaze, her voice carefully neutral.

He swallowed nervously, wanting to talk to her privately, to apologise and to ask her forgiveness, but Luna and Neville entered the compartment right then and took the seats beside Ginny. 

“I’m good,” Harry told her, trying to smile nonchalantly, but he was sure he probably looked as if he had gas. “I want a word in private later, if that’s all right with you,” he told her. 

She nodded, her face calm and collected, before turning to greet Luna and Neville and strike up a conversation as if nothing was amiss.

Hermione and Ron shuffled in and took their seats beside Harry. 

“George wanted me to give you this,” Ron said, handing over a package wrapped in brown paper. It was about the size of a pocket Sneakoscope. “He said not to open it until you were safely away from prying eyes.”

Harry took the package and tucked it into the mokeskin pouch he wore beneath his shirt. 

Hermione watched him stow it away with a distrustful glint in her eyes. “If it ends up being something dangerous or illegal, Harry…” she began.

“I’ll hand it in straight away,” Harry finished for her. 

She smiled crookedly, shrugging. “Oh it feels good to be going back! It feels like we’re getting a chance for a fresh start.”

Ron slipped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and Harry’s eyes fell on the ring resting on Hermione’s left hand. 

It was almost as if that ring symbolised the fact that their days as a trio were over and Harry was on his own once again. He stared out of the window watching the world fly by while surrounded by the merry voices of his friends, wondering what the future held for them all.

~x~

There was an uproar of applause and merriment at the announcement of the new members of staff that year. To Harry’s surprise and Ron’s horror, Mrs. Weasley sat among the professors at the head table and stood up when McGonagall announced she would be taking on the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as well as Head of Gryffindor House.

The Gryffindors whooped with excitement and admiration over Molly having been presented with an Order of Merlin earlier in the summer. 

Harry was surprised again, though he led the applause at the Gryffindor table when Arabella Figg was announced as the new Muggle Studies professor. She got to her feet beside Hagrid, barely coming up to his shoulder while he was seated. She smiled and waved at the students, looking more lively than Harry had ever seen her before. Hermione clapped loudly as well, offering to all those who would listen that it was beyond time for Squibs to be given equal opportunities in the wizarding world. 

Hestia Jones, the witch with sleek black hair that Harry had met the previous year when he bade farewell to the Dursleys, was announced as the new Transfiguration Professor.

The sorting took longer than usual, owing to the additional need to sort the Muggle-born students that had been unable to attend the previous year. McGonagall explained that the rest of the student body had been given a pass to move on to the next year with the understanding that the fifth and sixth-year students would sit their OWLs together in the spring, as well as the seventh and eighth-year students their NEWTs. Only those who had not attended Hogwarts previously would be kept in first year. 

By the time the sorting had finished, Harry was certain his stomach had taken to digesting itself. He hadn’t felt hungry on the train, and thus hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He was relieved when McGonagall held up her hands to allow the feast to commence, saving her start-of-term notices for afterwards. 

The feast appeared before, them weighing down the house tables with a variety of dishes, and the students fell into delighted chatter as people began serving themselves, talking and laughing.

Harry filled his plate with roast beef and pulled pork, steamed yams and a piping hot bun smeared with butter. He took a goblet of pumpkin juice and began to eat, closing his eyes in appreciation for the delicious meal as his tastebuds roared their approval.

When he opened his eyes again, he spared a glance at the Slytherin table across the hall. The Slytherins were in the minority for number of returning students, though their first-year class was as large as the other houses. 

Looking down the row of students, he spotted Malfoy, seated between Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Millicent Bulstrode was the only other Slytherin in their year that had returned, as Nott and Goyle were serving time in Azkaban for their crimes during the war and their utter lack of remorse. 

Malfoy looked forlorn amongst the hustle and bustle, though his fellows were more subdued than the rest of the returning students. Harry felt his heart leap into his throat when Malfoy met his eyes with a cool stare, and Harry looked away hastily, trying to appear engrossed in conversation and to ignore the flush that he knew had spread across his face.

By the time the dessert plates had been cleared, it was nearing ten o’clock at night. Professor McGonagall got to her feet at the head table and held up her hands for silence. 

A hush fell over the room. 

“My start-of-term notices will be brief,” she said briskly. “The forest is out-of-bounds to all students without a Professor escort. The Quidditch field is being regrown; I will announce the formation of teams after Halloween. As many of you are aware, the North tower was destroyed and has not been rebuilt. Professor Trelawney has agreed to move her residence and classroom to the first floor opposite our other Divination professor, Firenze. No students are allowed near North tower until it has been properly rebuilt. The eighth-year students will not reside with their houses, but have been given a common room of their own and shared dormitories. I must impress upon you all the importance of this. The eighth-year students will be the leaders in promoting interhouse unity and will be expected to lead the rest of the students to follow their example. This Christmas, Hogwarts will host a dedication ceremony as we erect a monument to those that gave their lives in the war and a celebratory ball will be held honouring those who fought for Hogwarts. Those honoured will include all walks of life. House-elves, centaurs, merfolk, ghosts, as well as wizards; and Harry Potter has consented to give the dedication speech.”

She clapped her hands. “And now it is past time you were in your beds. Lessons begin tomorrow promptly at nine o’clock. You are dismissed.”

Harry found himself jostled this way and that by the dispersing student body. Everywhere he looked eyes were on him, as students pointed him out to their peers, whispering praises. Those who knew Harry personally waved at him or thumped him on the back while passing. He made his way out of the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, ducking behind a tapestry which hid a shortcut to their new quarters with relief at having got away. 

They headed through the low-ceilinged corridor, Ron and Hermione bringing up the rear as they held hands and exchanged quiet words intended only for each other. Harry had never felt more like a third wheel in his life. His attention was drawn to a scuffling sound where the corridor turned a corner. He picked up his pace to investigate.

His wand was out the moment he stepped round the corner and found Zacharias Smith leering over Malfoy’s body prone on the floor. 

“Step away, Smith,” Harry said, voice sharp and commanding. 

Smith looked up at him, holding up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Hey, Potter,” he said, a look of superiority plastered on his smug face. “You can’t blame a man for protecting himself against a Death Eater.”

Malfoy struggled into a sitting position and worked at loosening the knot that tied his shoelaces together. He said nothing, though his face was tinged pink with embarrassment. 

“Only a coward acts like this, Smith, and you are the biggest coward I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Ron and Hermione rounded the corner at that point. “Oi, Harry. Watch where you’re pointing your wand,” Ron said immediately. 

Harry ignored him and continued to track Smith’s movements with his wand. 

Smith pocketed his wand, shrugged and walked away. 

“Are you all right?” Harry asked Malfoy, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. 

Malfoy looked at the hand, glanced to where Ron and Hermione stood, and rolled his eyes. He got to his feet, ignoring Harry’s offer of help, and stalked away without a word or a backwards glance.

“Stupid git!” Ron swore under his breath. “What’s got into you, Harry? Malfoy is a Death Eater, I don’t care that you spoke for him at his trial. You’ve got to get your priorities straight. Building inter-house cooperation isn’t going to happen if you alienate the Hufflepuffs for standing up for themselves.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot upwards with disbelief. “You saw that, though. Malfoy hadn’t provoked him. Smith attacked without cause.”

“Harry,” Hermione said coolly. “It was only a trip-jinx. It’s not like he tortured him with the _Cruciatus Curse_.”

She turned to Ron and gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll go on ahead. See you in the morning.”

She swept past Harry, following the path Malfoy and Smith had gone.

Ron watched her go thoughtfully. “Let’s go and find our dormitory,” he said finally, seeming to want to change the subject when Hermione wasn’t present to back him up. 

Harry fell into step beside Ron and they made their way to their new living quarters. They were to be housed in a new addition to Hogwarts, a half-tower built on the south side of the castle, overhanging the cliffs and looking out over the lake. They trooped up a short flight of stairs to the door to their new common room. 

Inside, the eighth-year boys and girls gathered around a list posted on the notice board which told them how they were to be split. 

Harry looked over the list of boys and saw that the eighth-year boys were housed in two separate dormitories. He picked his name out on the list to the left, along with Terry Boot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Zacharias Smith, Neville, Dean and Draco Malfoy. He gulped when he heard Ron’s bellow of protest.

“What the ever-flying fuck is this?” Ron swore loudly. “Who made these lists? Are they mental? Why aren’t Harry and I sharing a room?”

“You might as well get over yourself, Weasley,” Blaise Zabini said coolly. “Just because you and your precious boytoy Potter have been bosom buddies for ages, doesn’t mean the rest of us want to witness it.”

Ron’s fist was in the air when Harry stepped in between them. Harry caught it with his hand. “Calm down, mate,” he hissed. “There’s no sense getting worked up over sleeping arrangements at this time of night. We can talk to McGonagall about it tomorrow.”

Ron lowered his hand, eyes still narrowed at Blaise, who was ignoring him altogether. But he withdrew and stalked away towards the dormitory on the right. 

Harry was secretly relieved to not be sharing a room with Ron for once. He loved Ron like a brother but, like a brother, Ron could be overwhelming to deal with at times. He entered his own dormitory and greeted his dorm mates. He overlooked Smith entirely, and found the bed set aside for him with his trunk at its foot. He climbed onto the mattress and turned onto his back, exhausted. 

He watched Draco Malfoy enter the room after the others had all climbed into their beds; watched as he took note of the fact his bed was right beside Harry’s. Malfoy looked to the ceiling as if praying for patience and climbed in, pulling his curtains closed.

Harry grinned despite himself. Malfoy may not be speaking to him, but he was at least affected enough by Harry to show a bit of his old self again.

~x~

The first few weeks of school passed uneventfully. Harry found the best way to deal with his many admirers was to just be himself. As soon as the other students saw that he didn’t respond to praise or sucking up, but was quiet for the most part and seemed to struggle in his lessons as much as the rest of them, they got over the hero worship pretty quickly.

Harry spent a lot of time considering Malfoy. He didn’t track him as he had in their sixth year because Malfoy made no attempt to hide. He showed up to his lessons as scheduled, ate his meals in the Great Hall and spent his evenings studying in the library. He kept to himself for the most part, and even Blaise and Pansy seemed to leave him alone. 

The strangest thing about Malfoy this year, though, was that Harry had yet to hear him utter a single word. This phenomenon intrigued Harry, and he found himself paying close attention to Malfoy whenever they were in the same room together, trying to figure out what was going on with him.

Malfoy ignored Harry, to Harry’s chagrin. He seemed entirely unaffected by Harry’s constant watching.

One night in the common room, Hermione approached Harry while he was Malfoy-watching, pretending to study. 

“Harry, may I speak to you outside?” she asked.

He looked up, surprised to see her. “Yeah, of course,” he said, shaking the clouds from his mind. He followed her into the deserted hallway. 

“You seem to have taken up your obsession with Malfoy right where you left off,” she said, sounding strained.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, knowing full well he was entirely far too engrossed with Malfoy. 

“Harry. You aren’t stupid and I know you know what I’m talking about. Just try and be a bit more discreet, will you? People are talking. They think you’re watching him because he’s plotting something like before. It’s worsening our attempts at uniting the houses. Just let him be.”

“Right,” Harry said. “I just wish I knew why he doesn’t talk.”

Hermione breathed heavily, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you go up and ask him?” she suggested. “Anyway, there’s a meeting scheduled in the common room tonight after dinner. Mrs. Weasley will be there, and I’m certain she’s expecting you; so don’t miss it.”

She turned and went back to the common room, closing the door behind her.

~x~

Later that night, the eighth-years gathered together in the common room, Mrs. Weasley sitting in a comfortable arm chair turned towards them away from the fire, while Slughorn stood facing them, warming his large backside in front of the hearth.

“I suggest we have a party,” Seamus piped up. “In my honest opinion there’s no better way to foster, um, what d’ya call it?”

“Inter-house cooperation,” Hermione supplied.

“Yeah, that’s the word,” Seamus agreed. “We can have it here and invite the seventh-year students. It’ll be a blast!”

Molly Weasley tapped her quill against the clipboard she held in her lap thoughtfully. “What about the rest of the students?” she asked. “Don’t you feel like they may feel left out?”

“Oh, Molly,” Slughorn chuckled jovially. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. You’re absolutely correct, Mr. Finnigan. The best way to shake things up and get people talking is a celebration.”

“Aww, go on, Mrs. Weasley,” Dean Thomas quipped. “They can plan their own party or we can have another later on, after we’ve seen how well this one goes.”

Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows at Dean. “I’ll remind you to address me as Professor, Mr. Thomas,” though her voice was kind and amused. “I think a party isn’t entirely out of the question, but I want to make it perfectly clear now, that if we do this, it must abide by school rules. That means there will be no alcohol consumed. Do I make myself clear?” 

Seamus led a group of the eighth-years in a slew of groaning agreement. 

“Surely a little bit of spirits could be allowed,” Slughorn suggested, winking at the groaning students. “I mean, most of the students are of age, after all.”

Mrs. Weasley ignored him. “Furthermore, the seventh-year students will need to be back in their dormitories by curfew.”

More groaning followed. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, looking at Professor Slughorn’s frowning face. She sighed. “I will speak to Professor McGonagall about extending their curfew to eleven o’clock for one night.”

Dean rocked his elbow into Ron’s side. “Your mum is really cool, mate!” he laughed.  
Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley’s face go pink at the compliment. He was surprised she was being as receptive to their idea of a party as she was. 

He watched Malfoy from the corner of his eye, get up and wander to their dormitory, unnoticed by the rest.

“…Harry dear?” He heard the tail end of a question put to him by Mrs. Weasley.

“Sorry?” he said, turning his attention to her. “What was that?”

“I said I think things should go perfectly smoothly with you in charge. Would you like to lead your classmates in planning this party?”

“Not really,” Harry answered. He noticed Seamus’s face had grown sullen. “I nominate Seamus Finnigan as party planner,” he said, having a burst of inspiration.

Mrs. Weasley appeared slightly surprised at Harry’s refusal, but Hermione took her focus off him. “I second the nomination and volunteer to assist.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased. She smiled fondly at Hermione. “That’s very good of you, dear,” she said, and Harry stopped listening.

“I’ve got to use the loo,” he whispered to Ron, who shrugged, mortified by his mother and fiançée planning a party with Seamus in charge.

Harry got up and left the group, making his way as quietly as possible down the hall to his dormitory. He was about ready to push the door open when he heard cursing coming from within, followed by a loud thump against the door.

“Stupid Ministry-issued piece of shit!” Malfoy swore. “I swear I’d prefer death over this hell!”

Harry pushed the door open to find Malfoy lying flat on his back on his bed. The limited-use Ministry-issued wand lay at Harry’s feet on the floor. He stooped to pick it up.

“Everything all right in here?” he asked. “I heard you shouting.”

Malfoy glared at Harry in response, but said nothing. He rolled onto his side facing away from Harry.

Harry felt foolish for hoping Malfoy would act any differently. He crossed the room and put the wand on Malfoy’s bedside table, his eyes drawn to the curve of Malfoy’s arse and the way his jumper had hitched up at the back, pulling his shirt up and revealing a pale sliver of skin. 

He jumped when Malfoy turned over suddenly, staring at Harry with fury in his eyes, as if to tell him to mind his own business. 

“Why don’t you talk in front of anybody any more?” Harry blurted out, hoping to get Malfoy to answer him or even to just yell at him to fuck off. 

Harry waited, then realising Malfoy wasn’t going to answer, he went on. “It’s not the same around here without you spouting off and rubbing your superiority into everybody’s face. Why don’t you talk?”

Malfoy gave Harry a look that Harry read as him saying _are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t exactly come out smelling like a rose. You think having me pick fights is going to go over well?_

“Yeah,” Harry said, as if Draco had spoken. “I see your point. I just don’t like the way you’ve seemed to have given up. It’s like you’re not _you_ any more.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. He picked up the limited-use wand and pointed it at Harry, face drawn in a frown. Nothing happened. He dropped his arm, defeated, and sat down on the edge of his bed staring at the wand. Without a word, he pulled his bed curtains closed around him and Harry heard him whispering a spell.

He reached out, to try to talk to Malfoy once more, but realised the curtains had been fixed with an Imperturbable Charm.

~x~

“What has happened to Draco Malfoy?” Harry asked Professor McGonagall the next morning. She’d taken to calling him to her office on a weekly basis for a chat.

“What?” McGonagall asked. “You know as much as I do, Potter. You were at his trial this summer.”

“No, I mean, why has he stopped talking in front of people? You have noticed, haven’t you? I mean, he doesn’t even participate in lessons.”

McGonagall’s face grew troubled. “Well,” she started. “Of course, I am aware of Mr. Malfoy’s performance, but…”

“Talk to Harry about it, Minerva,” Dumbledore’s portrait said from behind her. “He may be able to assist.”

The neighboring portrait of Snape scoffed at the suggestion, but said nothing. 

McGonagall put her clasped hands on top of her desk and fixed Harry with a concerned gaze. “Frankly, he’s not going to be able to sit his NEWTs if things don’t change soon,” she told him. “He hasn’t handed any assignments in as of yet, and when I ask him to show me what he’s working on, for he does spend hours working in the Library, the scrolls are covered in illegible scribbles. I’ve even called him up here to talk to Albus and Severus, but he stares straight ahead and refuses to speak. I’m afraid I’m at as much of a loss as you are.”

Harry frowned. “I talked to him last night,” he said. “Or rather, I overheard him shouting about how much he hated everything and how he’d rather be dead than here, but when I asked him about it, he refused to answer me.”

McGonagall moved her chair to the side so Harry could see Dumbledore and addressed the portrait. “Well, you see he can speak, Albus, but chooses not to.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s portrait asked. “When you said you overheard Mr. Malfoy, did you see him speak, or did you just overhear him?”

Harry felt his face begin to colour. “Well, I wasn’t planning to eavesdrop or anything,” he explained. “I heard him through the dormitory door as I was about to enter.”

The portrait of Snape scoffed again. Harry glared at the rendition of the greasy-haired Snape. “I cleared your name too, you know,” he said bluntly. 

Snape sneered and walked out of his frame. 

Dumbledore’s voice continued as if he hadn’t noticed the exchange. “It could still be a curse,” he said thoughtfully. He looked at Harry down his long nose. “Harry, would you be willing to put aside your past with Mr. Malfoy and consent to assist him in his lessons? I don’t know that he will accept your assistance, but if his attitude doesn’t change, I’m afraid he will have to go back to Azkaban for not fulfilling his end of the agreement with the Ministry.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I’ll help as much as I can.”

“Potter,” McGonagall said, calling Harry’s attention to herself once again. “I will speak with your professors about the assignment. On another note, have you put any thought into the speech you’ll be giving at the dedication ceremony?”

~x~

It wasn’t until his last lesson of the day, eighth-year Potions, that the assignment was implemented. Malfoy did not seem pleased when he and Harry were called into the hallway by Slughorn before starting that day’s potion, and told they would be partnered in all their lessons.

Harry sat chopping tentacula roots into cubes while Malfoy added wartcap powder to their cauldron. They had been assigned to make an ink-repelling potion to be used to treat the desks in the Ancient Runes classroom.

They worked in silence, until Harry tried to add the roots to the potion. Malfoy caught his wrist, and pointed at the Potions textbook spread open before them. 

“Oh,” Harry said, reading. “It needs to stew for five minutes first. How long until then?”

Malfoy looked at his wristwatch and held up two fingers. Then he noticed the foxglove seeds Harry had harvested from a stem. He pulled the pile towards himself and began peeling the outer layers off. 

Harry watched Malfoy’s long fingers work, entranced by the delicateness of his hands. Malfoy stopped and leaned to his right, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment Harry couldn’t see because the cauldron was blocking it. 

“What are you writing?” Harry asked, but Malfoy held up a finger as if to say, _Give me a minute, you idiot, before the cauldron explodes._

Malfoy scooped the cubed tentacula roots into the cauldron and stirred it three times clockwise, followed by one counter-clockwise turn, then jotted another note down on his parchment. He pointed to the potions book and Harry read: “Allow the tentacula roots ten minutes to boil before adding the foxglove seeds.” 

“Right,” Harry said, craning his neck to get a look at Malfoy’s notes, but Malfoy folded the parchment in half and stood up, starting to clear their workspace by taking the leftover ingredients back to the potions cabinet. He looked at Harry impatiently. “Oh, yeah. I’ll help clear up.”

Once Malfoy had stepped away, Harry hesitated half a second, and then shoved the folded parchment Malfoy had left into his pocket and gathered the rest of the ingredients, then followed Malfoy to the cabinet. 

Once they returned to their potion to stir in the final ingredient, Harry felt himself sweating a bit, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t realise his notes were gone, but he needn’t have worried; Malfoy didn’t seem to miss them. 

Slughorn dismissed them after the bell rang, and Harry tried to help Malfoy finish clearing up. Malfoy gave him an exasperated look and pointed to Ron and Hermione on the opposite side of the room. Harry felt like he could hear Malfoy’s voice in his head tell him: _Go on and catch up with your little friends, Potter, before Granger has an anxiety attack._

Hermione was looking at him, slightly agitated. He turned back to Malfoy. “Right, I’ll catch up with you in the dormitory later, and then we’ll sort out how to write up our essay.”

Malfoy threw up his hands as if Harry was being dimwitted, and turned away, but not before Harry noticed the smirk was back on Malfoy’s lips. He was glad to see it again.

~x~

He sat with Ron and Hermione under the beech tree looking out at the lake. He’d just finished telling them about his conversation with McGonagall and Dumbledore’s portrait.

Ron looked at him, not impressed, and Hermione hadn’t said a word. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her back to the tree.

“That’s mental, Harry,” Ron told him. “How could you want to help _him_ when you know full well he stood by while that bitch tortured Hermione?”

Harry felt his defences go up. “Well, what was he supposed to have done, Ron? Honestly. It’s not like he had any say in what was happening. If he’d spoken against his father, he would probably have been chucked into the cellar with the rest of us.”

Ron glared at Harry. “He’s a fucking Death Eater, Harry!” he spat through gritted teeth. “I can’t even pretend to understand why you spoke for him at his trial. If you would have let justice take its course, he’d be rotting in Azkaban with his father and the rest of them and we’d be shot of him.”

Harry closed his eyes, frustrated. He leaned his head back on his shoulders and opened his eyes again, looking up at the sky. “I dunno,” he said at last. “I guess there’s just something about nearly dying to save the world that makes me see a bigger picture.”

Ron and Hermione were quiet. Harry could tell they were not impressed by his reasoning; they were still bitter about the torture Hermione had suffered in Malfoy’s house. They climbed to their feet, brushing the dirt off their robes. 

“We’ll see you later, mate,” Ron said, turning away. 

Hermione hesitated, then spoke, her voice trembling. “I can’t talk about this right now. I just can’t.” 

They left. 

He listened until he could no longer hear their footsteps and stared out at the lake, thinking. He knew they were justified in their feelings, but he couldn’t help but see that Malfoy was changing. He’d been changing ever since the night Dumbledore was killed. It had taken Harry a while to reach the realisation that Malfoy had been in too deep and wondered, if he had had a family in the same situation, how much differently he would have acted. 

At the same time, he was hard pressed to deny or confront his growing attraction to Malfoy. He’d been nervous enough when he’d sought out dates with girls, but not knowing if Malfoy was even gay made the prospect of pursuing him that much more formidable.

His introspection was interrupted when Ginny’s voice spoke. “Hello, Harry.”

She plopped down in front of the tree, taking the space Hermione had vacated. 

Harry looked at her guiltily. They’d been avoiding each other ever since their conversation a month previously, and Harry missed her, but felt ashamed at how he’d led her on in the past. 

“What’s new?” he asked, feeling inadequate, but there wasn’t anything else he could think to say. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Ginny began, “I’m sorry if I made you feel like…” 

“No, Gin,” Harry interrupted. “You had every right to feel hurt and angry. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think we’re both just young and still trying to figure out how to deal with…” He gestured with his hand, trying to find the words to express what he was trying to say. “…all this stuff,” he finished.

She shrugged, a half-smile playing on her lips. “So, it’s Malfoy, is it?” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“What?” Harry asked, feeling a tension build in his muscles. 

“I’m not blind,” Ginny went on. “I see how you are around him. It’s like nobody else exists for you when he’s in the room.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He looked at his hands fiddling with a fallen leaf in his lap.

“Harry,” Ginny said, waiting for him to look at her. When he did, she went on. “I miss talking to you. I’ve had some time to get my head on straight, and I — I just want you to know that I don’t blame you. I was hurt, yes, but I can’t even imagine how hard it must be to be in your position. Talk to me.”

Harry was silent for a while, but looking at Ginny’s earnest expression, her willingness to move forwards and be friends made his heart swell with affection. “Thanks, Gin,” he said. “I’m still not quite ready to, you know, tell people about myself, but thank you for not hating me.”

She smiled, and turned to watch the squid raise a tentacle and wave it lazily in the autumn breeze. The sun hung low in the sky and the light glistened off its suction cups. 

“You know, Dumbledore thinks Malfoy might have been cursed,” Harry told her. He needed to confide in a friend about Malfoy, but considering Ron and Hermione were not willing to talk to him about it, at least Ginny would listen. “You know how he doesn’t talk in front of people? I don’t think I’ve seen him speak a word since before his trial. I heard him shouting last night, but when I went to see what the matter was, he stopped talking again.”

Ginny looked thoughtful. “Well, I haven’t really seen much of him. He doesn’t seem to go many places outside of the eighth-year tower and lessons. I’ve seen him in the library, but people don’t talk much in there anyway, so I haven’t noticed. Does Dumbledore have any idea of who might have cursed him?”

Harry shrugged. “Who wouldn’t want to curse him?” he asked darkly. “I feel like I’m the only one who seems to think he deserves a second chance. But there’s more.”

Ginny nodded, waiting for him to go on.

“McGonagall told me that he hasn’t been handing in his assignments and if it doesn’t change soon, he’ll have to go back to Azkaban for being in contempt of the court order.”

“That is odd,” Ginny replied. “What is he doing in the library if it isn’t working on his homework?”

Harry shrugged. He put his hand in his pocket to get his wand, and the notes he had stolen earlier came out with it. He read them, but they were simply notes on the potion they’d been brewing and held no other clues to the Malfoy mystery. He set the parchment aside and fiddled with his wand absently.

Ginny and he sat in silence as the sun sank lower in the sky and shadows deepened on the ground. She picked up the parchment and looked at it. 

“What is this?” she asked, intrigue clear in her tone of voice.

“Oh, just some of Malfoy’s potions notes. I thought it might have been something else when I nicked it.”

“You can read this?” she asked, disbelieving. 

Harry looked at her curiously. “Yes, why? Is there something odd about it?”

“Harry, this isn’t English,” she said. “It’s not much more than scribbles. Honestly it looks like a child’s first attempt at using a quill.”

Harry took the parchment from her and looked at it again. He could read the notes perfectly. He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering if she was having him on.

Her face changed suddenly as if she’d been hit with a sudden understanding. “It’s Parseltongue,” she said at last. “That’s got to be it. I had no idea it could even be written down. If Malfoy has been cursed like you say, it’s likely that whoever cursed him made it so he could only communicate in Parseltongue. That’s why you are the only one who can understand him and probably why he’s not talking in front of people.”

Harry’s eyes widened, the gravity of the realisation hitting him hard. “Blimey,” he said, his mind hit suddenly with an influx of thoughts and ideas. “You’re right. That has to be it.” He jumped to his feet and put the note back in his pocket. “I’m going to go and talk to him. If I can just convince him to let me help, maybe we can find out who cursed him and set it right. Thanks, Gin.”

He looked at her. She smiled meekly, still sitting beneath the tree. 

“Aren’t you coming back up to the castle?” he asked, anxious to confront Malfoy.

“No. You go on, Harry. I’m just going to sit here for a while longer. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He felt a slight pull of guilt at leaving her there, but his curiosity about Malfoy overrode his instinct to make sure Ginny was all right. But he hesitated nonetheless.

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts. “Really.”

He gave her a small wave and raced back across the grounds, heading to the large front doors of the castle.

~x~

He pushed open the door to the common room. It was empty. He rushed up the stairs to the door of his and Malfoy’s dormitory and pushed it open.

Malfoy was sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by piles of books and scrolls. He looked up as Harry entered, picked up his wand and the scrolls rolled themselves up and flew into Malfoy’s bookbag. The expression on his face seemed to say: _What is it now?_

Harry pulled the note from his pocket and waved it. “I know it’s Parseltongue that you’re speaking. I figured it out.”

With a flick of his wand, Malfoy summoned the note out of Harry’s hand. He ripped it up, glaring at Harry, his face tinged pink.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” Harry pressed him. “You know I can understand you! I could, you know, help and stuff.” He pointed at Malfoy’s bookbag. “Is that your homework? I could translate it for you so you can get through your lessons.”

Malfoy shook his head furiously, his eyes practically bulging with anger. He sprang off the bed, his wand aimed at Harry as if he were engaging him in a duel. 

Harry watched Malfoy’s face as he stared at the ministry-issued wand, then let his eyes travel to the ceiling as if to say: _Why the fuck does shit always happen to me?_ He closed his eyes and dropped his wand. It rolled under his bed.

He turned around, his shoulders slumping.

Harry hated to see him giving up. “Wait. Let me show you I don’t have any ill intentions.” His mind raced, thinking quickly. “I’ll — I’ll give you back your wand.”

Malfoy’s head snapped straight at Harry’s words. He turned on the spot, fury in his eyes and held out his hand impatiently.

Harry rushed to his trunk and flung it open, searching. He found the wand tucked in its protective sleeve, feeling his face grow warm at the memory of what he had used it for the last time he’d held it. He crossed the room and put it in Malfoy’s open palm, hoping he wouldn’t use Prior Incantato to discover the uses Harry had put it to. 

“There. Now we’re even,” Harry said, watching Malfoy draw the wand from its sleeve, his eyes drawn to the ring Malfoy wore on his right hand. He remembered seeing it on Lucius Malfoy’s hand in his second year. It bore the Malfoy family crest. 

Before he could even form another thought, he found himself dangling from the ceiling by his ankle, his robes covering his face and glasses sliding off his nose. “What the…?” he shouted. He heard Malfoy sniggering, though it sounded more amused than cruel. Harry started to laugh as well.

The door to the dormitory opened then and Harry could hear Ron chatting with Dean and Neville, stopping to take in what he was seeing. 

“Malfoy! You slimy snake! Put him down!” Ron’s voice thundered. 

Harry struggled to move his robes out of his face so he could see. He pointed his wand at his own feet and released himself, landing with a thud on the floor. 

“Wait!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and straightening his glasses. Ron and Malfoy had their wands pointed at each other. 

Neville and Dean stood in the doorway, watching too. 

“Ron!” Harry yelled, stepping in front of his wand. “Don’t. It was a joke. Please stop.”

Ron continued to glower at Malfoy over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Put your wand down,” Harry pleaded. He called over his shoulder to Malfoy: “You too.” 

He could hear Malfoy’s curtains close behind him, and knew he had retreated, but Ron turned his angry glare towards Harry. 

He lowered his wand. “What’s got into you, Harry? Why are you always protecting him?” he shouted.

“If you’d just stop a minute and listen,” Harry shouted back. “I told you to wait; it was a joke.”

Ron looked disgusted. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, and left the room. Neville and Dean stepped aside to let him pass. 

“I’ve got to go after him,” Harry said. “Nev, make sure nobody tries anything with Malfoy, would you?”

Neville shrugged. “All right, Harry,” he said, and Harry chased after Ron. He needed to get this confrontation over and done with.

~x~

When Harry arrived in the common room, Ron was leaning over the chair Hermione was sitting in, whispering to her. Harry watched as she spotted him. She closed the book in her lap a little more forcefully than she normally would have done, and stood up as he approached.

“Let’s go somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.” Her voice was short. 

More students began filing in through the door. Seamus was seated at a table in the corner, drawing up plans for the party. They congregated around him, each trying to get in their own ideas. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione paused after Lavendar Brown entered the room. Her face was as scarred as Bill’s after Greyback’s attack during the battle. She nodded to Hermione briefly, and turned away from Ron as she passed them. 

Hermione pushed the door open and walked briskly down the hall, making Harry and Ron have to jog to catch up with her. Ron lagged a bit behind Harry, and Harry wondered whether he was thinking about Lavender. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as he fell into step beside Hermione. 

She continued her brisk pace, bushy brown hair bouncing on her shoulders as she led them down a flight of stairs. 

“Somewhere we won’t be disturbed,” she answered, tone still clipped. 

They passed several groups of students and a few ghosts who slowed down to point Harry out, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. 

Hermione came to a sudden halt when they reached the second floor and turned to check if they were alone. Harry and Ron followed suit, finding the corridor deserted. 

“Come on,” Hermione instructed, and led them directly to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She entered, letting the door close behind her with a thud.

Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances and followed her inside. 

Hermione stood at the sink hiding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets with her arms folded. “Open it, Harry,” she said at once. 

Harry wondered why she felt they needed so much privacy but, considering her stiff posture and frown, decided not to argue.

“Open,” he hissed, a bit surprised at not having had to focus on the engraving of the snake in the tap this time. They watched the tap glow white as the sink sank into the floor, revealing the exposed length of pipe leading straight down.

Hermione jumped in first, followed by Ron and then Harry. Harry came to rest at the bottom, landing on a Cushioning Charm.

He got to his feet. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have just talked in the bathroom,” Harry began. “It’s not like…”

“Explain yourself, Harry!” Hermione interjected. “Why are you avoiding us? Why are you suddenly all about Malfoy? You know what he’s done, what he is!”

Harry felt his heart ache at the hurt expressions on his friends’ faces. He looked back up the tunnel at the hole above them. _“Close,”_ he said in Parseltongue.

The tunnel fell into darkness. 

“Lumos,” they all said together. 

Harry didn’t quite know how to mend the rift he felt growing between them. He thought about how he wanted to answer Hermione’s question as he led the way to the wall guarded by the two entwined serpents. They parted as Harry approached, opening into the main chamber. 

The walls were lit with dimly-burning torches that made the whole of the room glow in a greenish light, like aged copper. He walked to the end of the long room, taking a seat at the enormous feet of the statue of Slytherin. 

Ron and Hermione sat on the ground facing him. They waited expectantly for him to answer Hermione’s questions. 

Harry’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He swallowed nervously.

“Look,” he said at last. “I love you two. You’re the best mates a bloke could have, but now that you’re engaged … Well, even a bit before that really …” He knew he wasn’t being very coherent. He stopped to gather his thoughts, starting again after a short pause. “I just feel like I’m standing on the outside, looking in.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry held up his hand. “Let me finish,” he pleaded. “It’s like looking in at something I don’t think I’ll ever have. I never expected to survive. I told you what happened in the forest. I just don’t know how else to explain it, but for a while I felt like I belonged with them, with Sirius and Remus and the shades of my parents. Like that in-between state they were in was reality and all this …” He gestured to the room at large, “… is out of my reach. I know it’s not true. I know I’ve been given another chance, that I had a choice to stay with them or to return and I chose to come back; but I feel I left a part of myself behind.”

Harry saw that Hermione’s eyes had grown wet, but he didn’t know how else to put how he was feeling without making her cry. He was relieved to see that she and Ron no longer looked angry with him. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, reaching out to give his knee a gentle squeeze. “I hear what you’re saying. I don’t quite know how to respond, or what else I can do other than listen and support you while you work it out, but … what does Malfoy have to do with any of this?”

Harry stared at his hands. Knowing they were there for him, that they were listening, was comforting, but he was still afraid of how they’d react if he came clean about everything. 

“I don’t know how to explain it.” he paused and took a deep breath. “Malfoy’s been cursed. It’s like… I played my part; it’s over. Voldemort’s gone, but his memory still holds people under his power. Like he won’t ever truly _be_ gone until we can forget about him and create a new world without being reminded of him everywhere we look. Malfoy is a constant reminder of the evil he brought to the world. Not that Malfoy is evil. It’s more like he’s the _victim_ of that evil. He’s been cursed to only be able to speak in Parseltongue.”

He watched Ron and Hermione exchange a glance. 

Hermione looked back to Harry, shocked. “Who cursed him?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said miserably. “Ginny helped me figure out what had happened to him, but he wouldn’t talk to me when I asked him about it. Somebody wants to make an example of him, to see him fall into total ruin. He’s only here because of me, true; but he can’t sit his NEWTs if he can’t get through his lessons; and he can’t do that because even his handwriting is in Parseltongue. It’s like Voldemort is haunting him, trying to pull him down from beyond the grave. Malfoy is a prat, but he’s a kid. I mean, we all are really. He got pulled into all this … You didn’t see him … When Dumbledore …” Harry choked up, falling silent.

Ron was the next to speak. “All right, Harry. I hear what you’re saying. It doesn’t make me like him any more than before, but I get it. It’s the saving people thing you have. Even gits who deserve …” He stopped and backtracked. “I mean, even Malfoy. What do you expect us to do about it? What do you want from us, Harry? We’re your mates. We’re here for you.”

Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, glad for the low light in the room. He took a breath, calming himself. 

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Hermione asked quietly. “Is there something else that you don’t want to tell us?”

Harry let his head fall back on his shoulders, resting against the statue’s robes. He stared up at the shadows flickering on the high ceiling above him. He lifted it again slowly, and looked into Hermione’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sort of. I will tell you eventually, but I just can’t right now. I’m still figuring it out for myself.”

He turned to Ron. “You want to know what you can do for me?” he asked. “Try to look beyond your memories of the past. Forgive him, Ron, as much as you can. Let’s try to start over as if Voldemort never existed. If Malfoy digs himself another hole and turns out to be a total prat from here on out, then I’ll absolutely understand if you hate him. But …” He turned to Hermione. “You too, Hermione. Let’s try and rise above the hatred. Let’s prove to the world that we won’t be ruined by Voldemort’s evil. I promise to do whatever I can to break the curse on Malfoy, and if he hates me for it, fine. I don’t care. I’ll just be happy to see him get the chance Dumbledore wanted him to have, to get to make his own choices in life without that poison influencing him. He can do with it whatever he chooses; but at least I will have done my best.”

They were quiet for a few moments, and then Harry found himself being hugged tightly by Hermione. He put his arms around her too, and then Ron wrapped his arms around them both, saying: “We’re in it together. Just like always.”

~x~

That evening in the Great Hall, it felt just like old times to Harry.

He was surrounded by his friends at the Gryffindor table. Ginny was talking to him again, though he noticed there was still a trace of sadness in her eyes when she looked at him.

He tried hard not to focus on Malfoy where he was sitting on the opposite side of the room, but did manage to steal a few glances. Malfoy sat apart from the rest of the Slytherins, alone at one end of the table, and he looked miserable. 

Harry turned his attention to Seamus and Hermione as they went over the plans for the upcoming party. 

One of the school’s barn owls swooped in over the dinner table and dropped a package on top of Harry’s plate. The whole school seemed to notice as the post was normally delivered at breakfast. 

Harry removed the note spellotaped to the brown paper wrapping.

> Harry,
> 
> Do not open this package at the table. I haven’t heard from you and wondered if my git of a brother forgot to give you the package I asked him to deliver on your first day. Owl me when you get a moment.
> 
> George

Harry slipped his hand into his robes and touched the mokeskin pouch he now wore everywhere he went. He’d completely forgotten about the package Ron had handed him.

“So who’s it from, Harry?” Seamus asked, grinning. “I’ll bet it’s a secret admirer!”

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed his plate away from the table’s edge. “Laugh it up,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see you later in the common room,” he told Ron and Hermione. He gave Ginny a small wave and left, carrying the new package.

When he sat on his bed, he wondered what George could have sent him that required so much secrecy. He was glad he had chosen to find a place by himself when he finally unwrapped the smaller package first. Inside the brown paper was a Snitch, though it wasn’t the same as they used in a Quidditch game. This one was slightly smaller and silver. George had wrapped a note around it, holding down its wings.

> Harry,
> 
> I hope I’m not too forward in sending this to you, but as my top investor, I wanted you to be the first to see the new range of products Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will be offering. I don’t mean to pry into your business, but I couldn’t help but notice a certain magazine while you were packing your things to move. You know the one. All right. I admit it. I was snooping. Anyway, don’t be embarrassed, mate. Fred was as queer as my ear, though he never really talked about it much. Seemed to think Mum might be disappointed in him or something. But, before he died, we had been talking about expanding into the adult industry. That is to say, sex toys. Fred dreamed up this beauty. It’s an anal bead in the shape of a Snitch. Simply speak the incantation “Lubricus Volitum,” and insert; it will do the rest. This one is brand new so feel free to try it out and see if it tickles your fancy. Ha ha. And let me know what you think. Without Fred around I have nobody else to try my new line of Bedroom Secrets poof style. 
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you,
> 
> George

Harry knew his face was beetroot red. And worse still, he was hard as a rail just reading the letter. It wasn’t that he was turned on by George, or Fred even, but the idea of tickling his prostate with a Snitch … It was pure genius.

He opened the second package and just about came in his pants. It was a wizarding magazine titled: _Wonder Wizards_ , and the men gracing the cover, all three of them were gorgeous, naked, and hard. And the best part of it was that the pictures moved.

The door to the dormitory opened then, and Harry hastily shoved the magazine under his pillow.

Malfoy entered the room and approached Harry. 

Harry’s heart was in his throat, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his face. 

Malfoy stopped a few feet from Harry’s bed and took his wand out of his pocket. He held it up in front of Harry and raised his eyebrow. 

“What?” Harry asked. “You want to know why I gave it back to you?”

Malfoy nodded. 

Harry’s mind was still in his trousers. He looked at the wand in Malfoy’s hands, feeling himself flush further as he remembered what he had used it for, half wishing he still had it now that he had the magazine George had sent. 

“Um,” he said. “You ought to be able to defend yourself properly. I just thought that it was the right thing to do. You’re glad to have it back, aren’t you?”

Malfoy nodded again, though his expression was still sceptical, as if he couldn’t quite believe Harry had no other motive in returning the wand. 

“Well then, that’s good,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him. He still held the Snitch George had sent in his hand. The wings were not as long as those on a standard-issue Snitch and he could feel them brushing his palm lazily. “Was there something else you wanted?” he asked, wanting to close his curtains and enjoy some private time with his new toy.

Malfoy pointed at the Snitch with his wand. It flew out of Harry’s hand with a nonverbal Summoning Charm, and Harry felt his protests die on his lips as he watched Malfoy look it over close up.

He knew his face had to be scarlet when Malfoy’s eyes met his, eyebrows raised questioningly. 

“Yeah, that’s um … Can I have it back?” He held out his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to get off the bed to retrieve it. 

Malfoy shrugged and walked forwards. He placed the Snitch in Harry’s hand, their fingers brushing briefly. 

Harry’s skin sang where they touched. He closed his fingers around the small ball. “Thanks,” he said, though he was sure his words had come out more breathy than he’d intended. 

Malfoy turned away with a knowing smirk on his face, making Harry feel self-conscious. 

Harry watched him loosen his Slytherin tie, and carry his book bag to his bed. He climbed in and closed the curtains. 

Harry was fucked. His erection pressed painfully against the zip of his trousers. He wasted no time closing his own curtains and spelling them in place. He had his trousers and pants around his ankles a moment later, holding the small ball with its wings flattened at the entrance to his body. 

He thought briefly of fetching the magazine from beneath his pillow, but the imprint of Malfoy’s smirk played through his mind behind his closed eyelids.

He imagined Malfoy behind his curtains, holding the wand Harry had used as a dildo, and using it on himself. 

He reached for his wand, holding the Snitch in position, shuddering as he pictured Malfoy fucking himself with his wand just feet away.

“Lubricus Volitum,” he whispered, and pushed the ball inside. His eyes rolled back in his head as his hips came off the bed with the first brushes of the Snitch’s wings against his prostate. 

He didn’t make it back to the common room that night.

~x~

When he opened his eyes the next morning, he felt more relaxed and well-rested than he had in ages. He’d stowed the Snitch safely away in the mokeskin pouch he wore round his neck and he stretched luxuriously beneath his sheets, his stomach rumbling.

He sat up and pulled his T-shirt and trousers on, before opening his curtains at last, thankful it was the weekend.

The sun shone through the large window opposite his bed. Malfoy was curled up in the window seat, his right hand held out before him as he stared at the ring on his finger. The sun lit his hair, making him look as if he were wearing a halo.

Harry hesitated before climbing out of bed, but Malfoy seemed to sense he was being watched and turned to face Harry, an eyebrow raised.

Harry’s feet found the floor and he stood up. “How are you this morning?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as inept and awkward as he felt.

Malfoy answered with a shrug. 

Harry was relieved to see that Malfoy didn’t appear to be angry to be spoken to this morning. 

Malfoy turned to face Harry full on, his legs dangling from the window seat, feet a couple of inches from the floor. He pointed to his bed.

Harry turned to look. The bed was piled with scrolls and books, looking as though they were organised by subject. 

He turned back to Malfoy. “So, you want me to help, then?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, sighing, but answered with a nod. His lips were firmly pressed together as if he was deliberately trying not to speak, but only just managing it. 

Harry looked again at the huge task before him, his head hurting at the prospect of how long it would take him to translate them all, but he reminded himself that he’d given his word.

The rest of their dorm mates were probably having breakfast in the Great Hall. 

“You hungry?” Harry asked, feeling his stomach growl angrily.

Malfoy shrugged again. 

“Dipsy?” Harry called, hoping that his request for breakfast wouldn’t be too much trouble. 

The small elf popped into being with a loud _crack_ , making Malfoy nearly fall out of the window. 

“Harry Potter, sir,” Dipsy said, bowing low. “What can Dipsy be doing for you?”

Harry was aware Malfoy was watching his interactions with curiosity. 

“Can you bring us something for breakfast? Not a lot, just some muffins would be fine.”

The small elf bobbed his head happily. “Dipsy is glad to be of service to Harry Potter and his friends.” He disappeared with another loud _crack_. Moments later, Harry saw that a tray laden with muffins and a flagon of pumpkin juice and cups had appeared perched on the top of his trunk.

He grabbed a couple of muffins, poured himself some juice, and took it back to his bed. 

“Have some,” he said to Malfoy. “Then I think we should take all this work to the library. I doubt anybody will distract us there.”

Malfoy jumped down from the window, still in his pyjamas, and took a muffin from the tray. He glanced at Harry with a look Harry took to mean, _I’m trying to figure you out. Why are you helping me? What do you expect in return?_

Harry swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do,” he said simply.

Malfoy frowned, as if he still didn’t quite believe Harry, and returned to the window to eat.

~x~

They had been at it for several hours, Harry painstakingly copying Malfoy’s words into English. On a few occasions, Malfoy had pointed out that Harry has actually been writing in Parseltongue himself, making Harry have to go back and rewrite several inches.

Harry was rather impressed by the quality of Malfoy’s work. He normally just dashed off a half-hearted attempt at his own assignments, but Malfoy seemed to really understand the lessons and had a way with his written words of putting the ideas down so they actually made sense. 

“You know,” Harry said. “I’m going to have to do some of my own assignments again after this. My stuff is pants compared to yours.”

Malfoy chuckled. He continued working on their essay for Potions.

“Laugh it up,” Harry shot back. He found he quite enjoyed Malfoy’s company. He hoped that the covert glances he’d caught Malfoy throwing him from the corner of his eye meant that he was at least not bemoaning spending time with Harry.

“Harry?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice said from behind.

They turned to see her approach their table. Her sleeves were rolled up over her elbows as she smiled down at them. 

“Hello, Draco,” she said warmly, looking over the piles of scrolls laid out across the table. “It looks like the two of you have your work cut out for you. Professor McGonagall told me you’d found a way to help out, Harry.”

Harry nodded, adding a full stop to the end of a sentence with his quill. “Yeah,” he agreed. “There’s quite a bit to catch up on.” 

He noticed Malfoy seemed to be trying to shrink back into the shadows.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to notice too. “Don’t be silly, dear,” she said to Malfoy. “Come on over here and let me see what you’ve been working on.”

Harry picked up one of the scrolls he’d finished with, an essay on warding off dementors that Mrs. Weasley had assigned earlier that week. 

She looked it over, confused. 

Malfoy huffed, and took it back from her, finding the translated page in the finished pile he’d made for Harry. 

Harry grinned. “Well, it’s hard for me to tell the difference,” he said, grinning. 

Mrs. Weasley quickly read over the essay. She looked up at Malfoy when she was done. “This is really quite good, Draco,” she said affectionately. “Have you given any thought as to what you’d like to do after you’ve passed your NEWTs?”

Malfoy shrugged, shaking his head, his eyes focused on Harry’s hands while he continued to scribble translations. 

Mrs. Weasley handed the essay back to Malfoy. “Well, I suggest you have a chat with Professor Slughorn. I think you might consider the publishing industry. He might be able to offer you some suggestions on how you could proceed. Put you in with the right people, you know.”

Malfoy accepted the essay with another shrug. Harry noticed Malfoy seemed to have trouble looking Mrs. Weasley in the eye.

“Well, don’t work all day, you two,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly. “I don’t want to hear you’ve gone all day without eating before tonight’s big party.”

Harry looked up. “Oh, is that tonight?” he asked. He’d completely forgotten about it. 

She smiled at him. “You know it is. I want you to keep an eye on Ginny for me. Make sure she doesn’t drink anything she shouldn’t, and be sure she’s back in Gryffindor tower by eleven.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Thanks, Mrs. Weas… er — I mean, Professor.”

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and bustled out of the room. 

Malfoy dropped into the chair beside Harry. He put his elbows on the table, his hands in his hair. 

Harry turned to look at him. “Not looking forward to the party tonight, I take it?”

Malfoy let the hand nearest Harry fall to the table and turned, giving Harry a sideways look that said: _Is it that obvious?_

~x~

Later that night, the party was in full swing. Slughorn had been present for the beginning, but claimed he was feeling his age and needed to retire for the night.

The alcohol came out immediately following his departure. 

All of the seventh and eighth-year students were crammed into the small common room. They filled the couches, and pouffes. All the chairs had been pulled away from the tables so everybody sat grouped in a large circle. 

Harry was on the floor, leaning back against the large armchair that Ron and Hermione had squeezed themselves into. He took the flask of firewhisky that Ron passed him, and drank from it, feeling the burn fill his head and chase away all his cares. 

Across from him, Pansy Parkinson and Luna gave each other manicures with their wands. Ginny sat on the floor at Dean’s feet, and Dean sat beside Seamus, who was doing an impersonation of Filch finding the keyhole to his office stuffed full of dungbombs and bubble gum while Lavender laughed hysterically, seated on his other side. 

Harry let his eyes flit over the other side of the circle. The Weird Sisters played on the wireless in the background. He saw Malfoy sitting on the floor between Neville and Blaise Zabini, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. 

Neville was in the chair to Harry’s left and he leaned down to take the flask from Harry’s hand, turning back to answer a question Hannah had asked of him. 

Malfoy drank slowly from a flask of his own. Harry noticed that Blaise was ignoring him, acting bored and talking lowly to Millicent on his other side, earning himself a punch in the arm.

“It’s time for a game!” Parvati announced over the din of music and talk. 

Padma giggled hysterically at something Michael Corner had said to her. She passed Parvati a flask. “Let’s play something racy!” she offered to her twin. “How about Truth or Dare?”

The suggestion was met by an equal number of hoots of approval and groans. 

Seamus clapped his hands, drawing all attention to himself. “Seeing as how I am the party coordinator, I say we play!” He grinned wickedly. “Anybody who chooses to sit out be warned. I will bribe Peeves to follow you around for a week, and don’t think he won’t be up for it. So … Is anybody out?”

When nobody answered, Seamus went on. “Right then. I’ll go first. Ginny, truth or dare?”

Harry watched as Ginny grinned up at Seamus. “Truth,” she said.

Her choice was answered with a cascade of whoops from the watchers. 

“Just keep it tame, mate,” Ron put in. “That’s my sister you're talking to.”

Ginny threw a scowl at Ron and looked up to Seamus. “Go on then; ask me anything.”

Seamus grinned wickedly. “If you could blow any bloke in the room, who would it be?”

Ron started to protest until Ginny quelled him with a look. The rest of the room was quiet, waiting to hear who she’d pick. 

She looked over each of the boys in the room, a thoughtful look on her face, and turned back to Seamus. “Based on likeliness it’ll happen or based on looks?” she asked.

Seamus pretended to think long and hard until Lavender shrieked: “Looks!”

“Right,” Seamus said. “The masses have spoken.” 

Lavender pinched him, giggling. “Don’t you call me masses.”

Ginny exaggerated a sigh. “Then it’s got to be Blaise Zabini,” she said, taking the flask Lavender held out for her and drinking from it.

The game went downhill from there. Harry was relieved to be left alone for the most part and contented himself getting blissfully drunk. He found the dare Neville was given rather amusing, as Neville had to spend the rest of the party wearing Pansy’s bra over his shirt.

Harry felt warm and comfortable, leaning up against the armchair while his head buzzed. And then he heard his name called, followed by hysterical laughing.

“What?” he asked. “Oh fuck. What do I have to do?”

His eyes swam into focus as Pansy Parkinson answered him, leering at him from across the circle. “It’s my turn, Potter, and I’ve just been dared to snog you for a whole minute.”

He watched her hazily as she crawled over to where he was seated. She was clearly trying a sexy cat crawl, but Harry thought she looked more like a pug than ever. He shrugged, thinking a minute couldn’t be so bad, and then he couldn’t breathe as she climbed into his lap and began sucking the air out of his lungs like a Dementor in heat. 

He breathed furiously through his nose, trying to stay present, willing the minute to be over, while his mouth was plundered by her invading tongue. 

Finally, not soon enough, Ron’s voice called out. “That’s time. Let the man breathe.”

Harry opened his eyes as she finally let him up. Pansy smirked down at him after she climbed to her feet. “Not bad, Potter,” she said coyly, and sashayed back to her place beside Luna as the room roared with laughter.

Harry turned to see what Malfoy was doing when he saw him glaring daggers at Pansy, his lips pressed so tightly together that they were white. 

“My turn to choose!” Pansy crowed, grinning madly. She took a drink from the flask Luna passed her, pausing until she was sure all eyes were on her. “Draco!” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up and the look that crossed his face made Harry feel as if he was actively rising to whatever challenge Pansy was planning to throw at him. 

“Truth or Dare?” she asked, giggling.

Malfoy’s expression fell into a mask of disinterested calm, and he held up two fingers, ignoring the fact that she was making fun of his silence. 

“Dare?” she asked. “Right then. I dare _you_ to snog Potter for _three_ minutes!”

“What? Wait, hold on!” Ron called out. “Seamus, come on. That’s taking things a bit far, don’t you think?”

Seamus looked as if he’d never heard a more brilliant dare in his life. His face was red and merry from drink. “Hey, if Harry doesn’t protest, it’s all good.”

Ron turned to Harry, evidently expecting him to protest, but Harry was too far gone to think clearly. His eyes were on Malfoy. 

He watched Malfoy throw Pansy another look, as if he was telling her he wasn’t a coward with his eyes, and then he turned to face Harry.

Harry heard a few snickers and some whispers, sounding distant, as though they were travelling through a tunnel, but lost his ability to focus on anything else when Malfoy’s grey eyes speared him.

He was rooted to the spot, frozen in place as Malfoy advanced on him, crawling across the floor, more like a panther than Pansy could ever have pulled off. 

Before he knew it, Malfoy had crawled into his lap, gripping Harry’s legs firmly between his own lean thighs. Harry felt his eyes flutter shut as Malfoy’s mouth descended on his lips. 

His mouth opened immediately to Malfoy’s questing tongue and the rest of the room simply disappeared. All Harry could think was how perfect kissing Draco Malfoy was. It was sloppy and alcohol-fuelled, but Malfoy kissed with an urgency that sent Harry’s mind soaring. Harry’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, reaching for Malfoy’s hips, pulling him closer, grinding up into him. He felt Malfoy’s breath catch when Harry’s erection pressed against his arse, but he redoubled his efforts instead of backing down, devouring Harry’s mouth. 

Upon hearing vague noises from the watchers around them, the thought that he was taking things a bit far in front of a room full of people crossed Harry’s mind, but the alcohol slowed his mental processes and anything that felt this good couldn’t be resisted. Chasing Malfoy’s tongue and lips and teeth was all that mattered and the only thing worthwhile in the world. He could happily drown in Malfoy’s slightly sour, whiskey-tainted breath, and he dove in to attempt it. 

Three minutes kissing Malfoy passed faster than the minute with Pansy had by far, and when Malfoy finally pulled away, as Harry heard catcalls that their time was up, he felt disorientated and bereft. 

His eyes opened to meet Malfoy’s face, seeing the look of confusion there, before it was quickly replaced by an unconcerned expression. Malfoy got to his feet with a regal dignity, and stared down at the watchers, just daring them to say something, but the room seemed to have lost its voice. 

Malfoy stalked away, headed for their dormitory, when Hermione broke the silence by clearing her throat. “All right, seventh-years,” she said nervously. “You have fifteen minutes to return to your dormitories.” She rummaged in her beaded handbag as groans of protest filled the room.

Harry was still stunned. He felt like the room was spinning, and could barely register anything that was being said. 

“I have bottles of Sobriety Potion for anybody who needs one,” Hermione’s voice broke through the din of his ringing ears. 

He turned when he felt eyes on him and met Ron’s face, staring at him white as a ghost, a frown creasing his brow. 

Harry picked up a nearly-empty flask of firewhisky and handed it to Ron, watching him take it with a tentative hand. “You’re drunk, right?” Ron asked.

Harry’s head felt heavy on his neck as he nodded. “Pissed,” he said, though the effort of speaking made him realise just how drunk he actually was. 

Ron smiled and rolled his eyes, looking relieved. “Just checking,” he said, and finished off the flask.

Harry let himself slump against the side of the chair and watched blearily as the seventh-year students queued up for their potions.

He watched from the corner of his eye, as Blaise Zabini slipped Ginny a note and Ginny’s face flushed scarlet, though all traces of past jealousy were now gone. 

He closed his eyes, thinking he might just fall asleep where he was, but then wondered if Malfoy might be waiting to talk to him in their room. He felt a surge of energy at the thought and climbed to his feet, unsteadily supporting himself with the arm of the chair.

He weaved his way through the dispersing crowd of students, passing Neville, who was still wearing Pansy’s bra as he talked to Luna. 

“…Gosharks cry can be heard when true lovers kiss for the first time.” Luna’s voice drifted in from a sea of voices as he stumbled to the staircase leading to the dormitory. 

He closed the door behind him, thankfully shutting out the sound of the party, and looked up to see that Malfoy had just loosened his school tie. It was draped around his neck, open in the front. His shirt was unbuttoned revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin above the neck of his vest, splotched with a faint flush that spread to his cheeks. 

“It was a game,” Harry said without thinking, “and we’re pissed.”

Draco nodded curtly and held up his hand to stop Harry talking.

Harry stopped and stumbled to his bed, sinking down on it and falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~x~

The next day, Harry sat in the library, diligently transcribing Malfoy’s assignments through his pounding headache.

Malfoy was seated on the opposite side of the table, marking Harry’s recent essays with corrections and notes in the margin, as they had come to an unspoken agreement that Malfoy wouldn’t be in Harry’s debt if he did his part and helped Harry with his assignments. Malfoy seemed to be pretending that nothing had changed between them. 

Harry’s stomach gave a lurch, and he shut his eyes tight against the wave of nausea, making Malfoy look up at him, an eyebrow arched. 

He opened his eyes, shuddering shakily and met the cool grey stare. 

His mouth was dry. 

He hesitated, wondering if Malfoy was thinking about the kiss they had shared at the party. It was playing back through Harry’s thoughts, taking his mind miles away from the task at hand. “Umm, are you hungry?” he asked, though the idea of eating made his stomach churn even worse. He hated feeling so awkward.

Malfoy shook his head and went back to his marking. 

“I think I need a break,” Harry said, when he realised he was being ignored. 

Malfoy gestured with his hand that Harry was perfectly welcome to take off, though he kept his eyes on his scroll.

Harry sighed and stood up, stretching. He lifted his arms high over his head, feeling his T-shirt rise a few inches above his waistband, but having been in the same position for two hours straight, it felt fantastic to move. 

He relaxed, rolling his shoulders, noticing Malfoy looking hastily back at his paper, as if he didn’t want Harry to know he’d been looking. 

The idea that Malfoy had been watching him made Harry’s heart race. He had never in his life felt more connected with another person as he had when they had kissed, and he was certain it wasn’t the alcohol that had made him imagine it. It made him hopeful that his crush may not be as one-sided as he had previously thought.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Harry said at last. “You want to join me?”

Malfoy shook his head, deliberately not looking up. 

“Right then,” Harry said, unsurprised. He’d have to work on tearing down Malfoy’s defences more slowly. “You’ll be all right?”

Malfoy looked at him finally, his expression haughty and offended. It made Harry smile as if he’d just told him off for being a mother hen. 

“I’ll catch you later then,” Harry said, and left Malfoy at the table.

~x~

He walked out over the grounds and spotted Ron, Hermione and Ginny down by the lake. He changed direction to join them, feeling better as the crisp air hit his face.

Ginny walked up to meet him under the beech tree, while Ron showed Hermione how to skip stones across the lake’s surface. 

“I see you’re making progress,” Ginny said as he approached, her voice teasing. 

He stopped, confused. “What?”

Ginny gave him a look that told him he was being dense, and he realised she was talking about the kiss with Malfoy. He felt his ears grow hot. 

“Well, I saw you were making progress too,” he retorted. “When are you planning to hook up with Zabini?”

Ginny’s face flushed, though she grinned. “I thought you were too drunk to notice, or at least too distracted by a certain …”

“Oi —” Ron shouted from the shore. “Harry, come and show Hermione how far you can skip one. She doesn’t believe me that you’ve got one to ten jumps before.”

Harry waved back at them. “That’s because I haven’t,” he called back.

Ron returned to Hermione as if he hadn’t heard. 

Ginny looked down at Ron and Hermione as they bickered playfully.

“You’re getting on better with them,” she said, turning to Harry again. “Did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Harry asked, confused.

Ginny raised her eyebrows, making Harry feel like he was being an idiot. 

“Oh that,” he said. “Um … No. We had a chat, though, and they’ve sussed out a bit.”

Ginny nodded. “You realise Ron won’t figure it out until you bang him over the head with the evidence and hammer it into his brain. His skull’s as thick as a troll’s.”

Harry chuckled despite his embarrassment, as he saw Ron grinning up at the sight of him and Ginny getting along.

“Well, he has a big heart.”

The foursome sat outside for a couple of hours, eating sandwiches Hermione had packed and enjoying the laziness of the Sunday afternoon.

As they headed down the first-floor corridor, past the Divination classrooms, Harry stopped, thinking he’d heard his name.

“You go on, I’ll catch you up,” he called to the other three and turned back, listening. 

He heard it again, a quiet “Potter,” sounding barely more than an exhale. He doubled back and froze as he saw a hand dangling from the alcove behind a suit of armour. He moved the suit aside with a flick of his wand and spotted the pale blond hair of Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy?” he asked, his heart in his throat. 

Malfoy was crammed into the alcove as if he’d been stuffed into position with a battering ram; his eyes were bruised and swollen shut, and his face marred with the reddened imprint of a boot. 

“Ron! Hermione! Ginny!” Harry shouted down the hall. “Help!” 

He wasn’t sure how best to get Malfoy out without causing further injury. He took hold of Malfoy’s hand, which dangled at an unnatural angle. It was cold to the touch, and looked blue against the silver band of his ring.

Malfoy groaned and one eye opened a sliver, though it was unfocused, staring straight ahead as if he couldn’t see. 

“Potter,” he wheezed, making Harry wonder if his ribs had punctured a lung. “Am I dead yet?”

 _Dead!_ “God no, not dead,” Harry said, his stomach sinking as if he’d swallowed a bludger. 

Hermione’s voice shrieked as their rushed footsteps stopped at the alcove. One of them conjured a stretcher, and Harry felt like time had slowed and he was moving as if wading through a vat of jelly.

With the help of his friends, Harry managed to get Malfoy onto the stretcher, though he’d fallen unconscious. 

Half an hour later, he found himself sitting in the hospital wing, waiting to hear if Malfoy would be all right. Ginny patted his shoulder consolingly, her arm around his back, while Ron and Hermione explained what they could to Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt ill. His mind was full of chaotic thoughts, chasing each other around so fast that he couldn’t form a sentence. If Malfoy died, it would be as if Voldemort had won another battle from beyond the grave. He wondered who could have been responsible for such brutality. His heart was like ice, and the words being spoken to him shattered it as if it were dropped from a height to a waiting rock below. 

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, her voice sharp as though she had called his name more than once. 

He turned to meet her concerned eyes, which were looking more aged and careworn than he had ever seen. 

The hospital matron bustled over then and picked up his hand, checking his pulse at his wrist. 

“He’s in shock, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey announced crisply. “Help me get him to a bed.”

“No,” Harry said, determined. “I have to see him. Is he alive?” 

He felt outside of himself again, looking in, half in this world, half in the next, groping blindly for Malfoy to take his hand and pull him one way or the other, never letting go. 

“You three will come with me.” Harry heard McGonagall say to his friends, while Madam Pomfrey pushed a glass phial into his hand.

“Drink this potion, Harry.” Pomfrey’s voice was direct, but kind. 

He obeyed without thought, and a relieving warmth flooded his veins as the potion did its work.

His fingers were stiff and ached as if he’d been holding them clenched for hours without realising. He flexed them a few times to regain feeling.

“I need you at his bedside, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey explained slowly. “I can’t understand what he’s trying to tell me.”

Harry followed Madam Pomfrey into the infirmary, past the empty beds to the one at the end which was sectioned off with a curtain on a brass stand. 

He stepped around the curtain and looked down at Malfoy’s face. Madam Pomfrey had put a pink salve on his bruises and it covered his eyes and the side of his face that had been stamped on like a half-mask.

Harry swallowed hard, as if he had a burr in his throat. 

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “I need…”

“I’m here,” Harry answered. He stepped close to Malfoy’s bed and put his hand on Malfoy’s hand. “What do you need?”

Malfoy’s eyes opened a crack and fixed on Harry. “I need the loo,” he said, somehow managing to smirk.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I can help you with that.”

“What is it, Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked. “Is he in pain?”

Harry shook his head. “He just needs the loo. I can help him.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Wait right there,” she said, and swept away. 

Harry watched Malfoy as he closed his eyes, resting. 

“It not like I don’t deserve it,” Malfoy said softly. 

Harry started. “Don’t even start talking like that …” he began, but Madam Pomfrey came back around the curtain holding a bedpan and a jar. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“He’s not getting out of that bed until the Skele-Gro has had a chance to work,” she said flatly. “Mr. Malfoy, would you rather I help you, or Mr. Potter?”

“Potter, you do it,” Malfoy hissed lowly. “I don’t want to owe anybody else anything, but I’m already so far in your debt, having you hold a jar for me to piss in is nothing.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy,” Harry answered, then turned to Madam Pomfrey. “I’ll help him,” he said, and took the jar from her. 

After she left them alone, Harry grew serious. “You just promise me to hang on and pull through or I’ll kill you myself.”

Malfoy let out a dry chuckle before grimacing in pain. “Wanker.”

Afterwards, Harry made himself comfortable in the bed next to Malfoy’s when Madam Pomfrey insisted he rest. 

Malfoy laid back with his eyes closed, though he wasn’t sleeping. 

“Who did this to you?” Harry asked after a while, feeling like the weight of all the unspoken words between him might crush him. 

Malfoy opened an eye a crack and looked at Harry with curiosity. He said nothing. 

Harry frowned. “You know it would be tons easier to help you if you’d just talk to me. Tell me who did this!”

Malfoy gave a mirthless chuckle. “You know it doesn’t really matter, Potter,” he said dryly. “I got what I deserved.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at Malfoy’s limp body. “I don’t even know why I give a damn,” he said shortly. “You’re just as much of a prat as ever, lying there and taking it like a fucking martyr. It reminds me of the time you played up your injured arm in order to get Hagrid fired.”

Malfoy’s head lolled to the side and he glared at Harry. “My arm really was injured, Potter,” he hissed. “Dumbledore was extremely irresponsible in allowing that oaf to teach lessons. He doesn’t have an ounce of common sense.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Malfoy rushed on. “Don’t deny it. I know you’re loyal to your friends, but honestly. Bringing Hippogriffs out for third-years, Blast-Ended Skrewts; he’s lucky nobody was killed or seriously injured for his inability to see monsters as more than fluffy bunnies.”

Harry wanted to disagree, but Malfoy made a point that Harry happened to agree with. Hagrid had got better at teaching after choosing to follow Grubbly-Plank’s lesson plans, but his history with endangering himself and others wasn’t in his favour. He scowled and let the subject drop. 

Malfoy went back to resting his eyes while Harry lay back down and stared up at the flying buttresses supporting the high domed ceiling. He couldn’t stay silent any longer. He rolled onto his side, facing Malfoy. “Who did it?” he repeated, watching Malfoy’s chest rise and fall with a sigh. 

Malfoy didn’t open his eyes, but continued resting as he answered. “It was three students, but that is all I’m telling you, so stop asking.”

Harry felt the fear that had built inside him when he had found Malfoy nearly dead morph into anger. He was fuming. “This is all about you being a Death Eater?” he demanded.

Malfoy cringed at the bite in Harry’s words, but recovered himself well enough to answer. “Mostly. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not planning to press charges.”

“The hell you’re not!” Harry exploded, sitting up as he felt his anger flare with the fuel of Malfoy’s defeatist attitude. “This sort of behaviour can’t be tolerated. People have to face the fact that they can’t just kill each other to solve their problems. That’s not how it should work. It’s like Voldemort has poisoned the peace that should have followed his death. I can’t let this go unpunished.”

Malfoy was watching him, an eyebrow raised in a sort of amusement. “Do you actually hear yourself, Potter? The shit that’s coming out of your mouth? You _can’t_ change people. People are who they are. They are who they are raised to be.”

Harry glared back at Malfoy. “Don’t start on that. Look at you,” Harry argued.

Malfoy shrugged and held up his left arm gingerly. “Yes. Death Eater, hello?” he said bluntly.

“You are _not_ your father,” Harry insisted.

“You don’t know me.”

Harry was silent a moment. He gathered his wits and tried to calm himself. “I know you,” he said at last. “I was there that night … On the Astronomy Tower …”

“I know, Potter,” Malfoy said dryly. “I was present at my hearing.”

Harry ignored this. “Dumbledore saw there was more to you than your father and so do I. I saw …” He hesitated before pushing on. “I saw what _He_ made you do.”

Malfoy stiffened. “What are you babbling about?” he demanded, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Voldemort,” Harry said clearly. “I saw him force you to torture for him. I saw him threaten to torture you if you didn’t obey. I saw what he made you do.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said in a clipped voice. “I don’t want to talk to you any more. Go and be a hero to somebody else. You _can’t_ fix everything. There are some things that don’t mend after they’ve been broken.”

Harry started to protest, but Malfoy sat up furiously. “Leave me alone!” he yelled, and fell back grimacing in pain. 

He started towards Malfoy, but stopped at the daggers being glared at him. “I’ll get Pomfrey,” he said lowly and left to fetch the matron. 

When he reached Madam Pomfrey’s office, Professor McGonagall was waiting for him. 

“Potter, I need you to accompany me to my office,” Professor McGonagall said at once, though Harry noticed the matron frowning her disapproval. 

“Minerva, he may go, but you must bring him back straight afterwards,” she said firmly. “The potion I’ve given him for shock is a temporary fix. He needs rest to fully recover.”

Harry spoke then. “Malfoy is in pain,” he said. “He got a bit upset at me asking him questions.”

Both women frowned at Harry with worried looks in their eyes. 

“Very well, Poppy,” McGonagall said. “I won’t keep him long. Come with me, Potter.”

~x~

“He won’t tell me who did it!” Harry shouted in response to McGonagall’s questioning. They were joined by the four heads of houses. “All he would tell me is that three students ganged up on him for being a Death Eater. He says he doesn’t plan to press charges and he thinks he deserved it.”

He glared at the professors’ expressions, as if challenging them to contradict him. 

“Nobody deserves to be beaten half to death three to one. And the fact that they think he can’t talk makes it ten times worse. I’m sick to death of all this hate! It’s all Voldemort’s fault. He fucked Malfoy up, brainwashed him, and it doesn’t seem to fucking matter that he’s gone! Every time a shred of happiness shines my way, it gets snuffed out and stolen before I can even breathe! I hate it!”

Harry was so angry and overcome, he was shaking. He felt like he couldn’t stop his limbs from trembling, like the shock was stealing back over him, breaking his defences. 

Molly Weasley bustled over to Harry’s chair and brought her hands down on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “We’ll beat it, Harry. Don’t even doubt that for a moment.”

He felt the emotion choking him up as a sob stuck in the back of his throat threatened to overwhelm him.

“Give us a mo’, would you lot?” Molly said to the rest of the room, her voice sharp and commanding. 

The tears began to fall despite Harry’s efforts, and he shut his eyes tightly against them, hearing the other professors leave the room. 

He turned in his chair to hug Mrs. Weasley tightly, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers and baked goods he associated with what a mother should smell like, allowing it to comfort him.

She rocked him, smoothing his hair back. “That’s it, dear. Let it out. You’ve fought too long and too hard for one so young. It’s good to step away and let yourself recover before charging into the next battle.”

Eventually, the tears stopped. He felt weary, but the thought of Malfoy recovering alone in the hospital wing gave him the strength to lift his head and let go of Mrs. Weasley. 

She wiped the tear tracks off his cheeks, looking down at him with a face full of thoughtful affection. “I know what love looks like, Harry,” she said a bit wistfully. “I always hoped that you and Ginny would grow closer and that you’d eventually become the son I’ve always seen you as, but it’s really not necessary, is it?”

Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve, blinking in confusion. “What isn’t?”

Molly smiled down at him, holding his chin up to look her in the face. “That young man needs you as much as you need him. I have you in my heart as my son already and don’t need a piece of paper to tell me it’s true. Go on and tell him how you feel, Harry. I give you my blessing.”

Harry flushed, pulling away. “Er … That is … I’m still not …” he stammered.

“Go on,” she said, still smiling. 

He wiped his face with his hand and left. He didn’t see any sense in protesting.

~x~

Harry settled into his bed in the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey insisted he stay. He felt much better after his cry, but he thought she likely was using his shock as an excuse to make sure Malfoy wasn’t left alone, and that was fine by him.

In the morning he woke up to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes and reached for his glasses, slipping them into place absently. 

Malfoy looked ten times better than he had the previous night. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, eyes trained on Harry.

“Mornin’,” Harry said, yawning. 

Malfoy hummed in response.

“Are you still not going to talk to me?” Harry asked, sitting up. “Who put the curse on you anyway? Do you know?”

Harry watched Malfoy’s eyes flit from him to the door.

He followed, turning to look, and then turned back, curious. “Are you expecting them to walk through the door?”

Malfoy focused on Harry once more and shook his head. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the high ceiling.

“I thought I was going to die there,” he said so quietly, Harry had to strain his ears to hear. “I thought it was just as I deserved.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Harry protested.

“Why not?” Malfoy shrugged. “It’s the truth. I don’t deserve to be saved.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly. “You were a kid. He was a megalomaniac and you did what you needed to do to stay alive and to keep your family safe. Dumbledore forgave you, and I forgive you.”

Malfoy turned back to look at Harry again, still resting against his pillow. “What’s the point?” he demanded. “It’s not like I’ll be able to function in the wizarding world. I’m cast out. The fact I even survived is more due to the fact that I was too cowardly to do the right thing and face death. I’m not you, Potter. I’m weak.”

Harry frowned. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Draco hissed so loudly he was spitting. “There isn’t a damn thing you can do about it and I’m doomed whether I can speak or not! It’s probably better that I don’t speak, in fact. It will keep me out of more trouble. It seems I always end up fucking myself with everything I say anyway.”

“Tell me!” Harry insisted.

Malfoy glared furiously at Harry. “Fine! You really want to know? My father cursed me, Potter. My own fucking father!” He held up his right hand, brandishing the Malfoy ring before Harry’s eyes. “He cursed me so this would happen if I ever crossed the line. I was ready to testify against him before the Wizengamot, and the moment I started to speak, my tongue was tied like the snake I am! Happy now? What are you going to do about it? There’s nothing you can do, so drop it!”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. He wished he could find it shocking, but when he considered the Lucius Malfoy he had come to know, it really wasn’t. Lucius always had seemed to make an exception in his inhumanity when it came to Draco, but Harry supposed that to the Malfoys and probably other pure-blood supremacists like them, turning on their own was the highest level of treason. 

He remembered how Lucius and Narcissa had, uncaring for whether their side won or not, frantically sought Malfoy during the battle at Hogwarts. He remembered seeing them afterwards, huddled together in the Great Hall, holding Malfoy like the precious son he was to them before the Aurors finally escorted them to the Ministry. They had gone without argument. He couldn’t imagine how badly Malfoy must feel having been cursed by his own father.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally said. “Thank you for telling me.” He was certain his words fell short, but couldn’t think of what else to say.

Malfoy chuckled dryly. “Like I had a choice with you badgering me.”

Silence descended upon them like an invisible quilt.

It was suffocating for Harry to not talk about all the things he needed answers to. The kiss they had shared lingered in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched, longing to touch and comfort, but fear and trepidation held him back, as did Malfoy’s cool attitude. And then the assault Malfoy had suffered the previous day. It bothered him most of all to think that there were three students present in the school at that very moment, going about their business as if all was well in the world after nearly murdering a classmate. 

He couldn’t keep the question in any longer, though he sensed he was pressing his luck getting anything else out of Malfoy. 

“And, yesterday?” he asked. “Who were they?”

Malfoy threw Harry another glare, and rolled over in bed facing away from him, shutting him out.

Harry’s heart felt tight, as if when Malfoy rolled over, an invisible thread connecting them stretched near to breaking. He wanted nothing more than to cross the few feet separating them and to… what? Kiss him? Hug him? Pet his hair? He wondered if the pull he was feeling really was all on his side and the electric rush, the magnetism he had felt when they had kissed was just side-effect of too much Firewhisky.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the privacy curtain sectioning them off from the other beds was pulled back suddenly and Madam Pomfrey stepped forwards in her blue and grey striped dress covered with a freshly-pressed white apron. 

She bustled to Malfoy’s side, wand drawn and held like a conductor’s baton. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said briskly. “I’d like to have a look at your injuries, to make certain you’re mending well. Is that all right with you?”

Malfoy rolled onto his back and lowered his sheet to his waist. He unbuttoned his pyjama top, looking as if he was still angry, but trying not to take it out on her, and Harry appreciated the fact he was able to show that much care for somebody other than himself. 

Madam Pomfrey looked up at Harry and then to Malfoy. “Shall I draw the curtain?” she asked.

Harry was surprised when Malfoy shook his head and looked to Harry to see if he would mind. 

“Uh, I’m fine if he is,” Harry told her.

He watched, relieved to be allowed to see for himself that Malfoy was healing. He watched the wand tip hover over Malfoy’s bare chest, a blue light forming at the end and glowing against Malfoy’s pale skin. 

It didn’t help Harry’s growing infatuation that Malfoy had somehow become incredibly fit since the last time Harry had seen his chest. His heart clenched when he saw the faint web of scars crisscrossing the expanse of exposed skin and realised that the last time he _had_ seen Malfoy’s chest was the day he had nearly killed him. 

Harry must have made some sort of sound, because Malfoy turned to look at him.

“I’m … I’m so sorry,” he started, but Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows and held up a hand signalling Harry to shut up.

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey handed Malfoy the hem of his sheet, allowing him to cover himself again. “You’re very lucky, young man, that you were brought to me when you were. The Skele-Gro appears to have worked its magic and your ribs are mended. I think another couple of days will allow your body to heal itself the rest of the way.”

Malfoy closed his eyes, nodding his head in thanks, though Harry could tell he wasn’t thrilled by the news that he would fully recover. 

Madam Pomfrey came round to Harry’s bed. “Mr. Potter. How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“I’m well enough.” 

“And, has he said anything more as to who attacked him?” she asked, throwing a fretful look at Malfoy, though Malfoy was pretending not to notice. 

Harry shook his head, watching Madam Pomfrey stiffen, her face drawn. “I never thought I’d see the day when students would resort to such brutality,” she said, frowning. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here with him. I understand if you’d rather get back to your friends and studies, but I would like to have you present for …” she paused, looking at Malfoy again. “… communication purposes.”

Harry heard an indignant huff come from Malfoy, but ignored it. He could see in her face that Madam Pomfrey wanted him present to keep Malfoy safe, perhaps even from himself, without having to resort to supervising him directly at all times. 

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed at once. “Could you have Ron and Hermione bring us our coursework? I think we left it in the library.”

After she had left, Harry turned to talk to Malfoy, but Malfoy had turned onto his side again, his back to Harry. 

Their breakfast trays appeared on their bedside tables shortly afterwards, and Harry, deciding he wouldn’t be able to get any more information out of Malfoy, sat up and served himself.

~x~

“Here it is, Harry,” Hermione said, stopping by the infirmary on her way to class. She set Harry’s and Malfoy’s school bags, full to bursting with books and scrolls, at the foot of Harry’s bed. She glanced timidly at Malfoy, who was ignoring them both. “Can I help at all?” she asked. “I must say that I’m rather fascinated by the written form of Parseltongue. I’ve done some research on the subject and I don’t believe it has ever been studied. I almost wonder …”

Harry chuckled as her voice trailed off. “Well, I know _I_ can use all the help I can get with my essays. Malfoy has had me re-write a few of them already. I never realised how shoddy my writing has been until I started translating his.”

He heard a snort of laughter come from Malfoy’s bed and looked over. “Well, at least I can admit when I need help,” he added without thinking.

Malfoy raised his hand with a rude gesture, clearly not amused. 

Harry threw up his hands. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’m serious.”

Hermione chuckled softly from the foot of his bed. “I’ll leave you two to settle your argument. Ron and I will check back in after lessons are over for the day. I’ll take notes so you don’t fall behind.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said and watched her hurry away, her hair bouncing as she walked.

After she had left, Harry pulled the school bags towards himself and started unpacking them. 

“Might as well get some work done while we’re here,” he said, separating the books from the scrolls.

“What do you want from me?” Malfoy hissed softly.

Harry turned to look at him. He was facing Harry now, but not making any movement suggesting he was planning to get up anytime soon. 

“What do you mean?”

Malfoy didn’t answer with words, but Harry could read his eyes. They said, plain as day, _why do you care?_

Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, what Malfoy was expecting to hear. “I — I don’t want Voldemort to win,” he answered at last. “If you fail because of this curse, or because of the ill will you are shown by others because of the war, it’s like he wins.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as if he were asking: _and that is all?_ but thankfully didn’t press the issue any further. 

Harry felt a flush start spreading up his neck and turned to face the books so Malfoy couldn’t see. The intimacy of their confinement made the kiss they had shared hang over them like the lingering echo of a lone note from an oboe, after an orchestra had fallen silent.

~x~

The next couple of days flew by in a whirl of intense focusing on finishing their coursework. Harry suspected part of Malfoy’s drive to getting everything done was to keep Harry so heaped with things to do that he wouldn’t have any time to talk about anything uncomfortable.

Malfoy received an owl from his mother on the first day, but he wouldn’t let Harry read it and refused all assistance when Harry offered to write back to her. 

Ron and Hermione stopped in once an evening after lessons were dismissed, to hand over their new assignments and to fill Harry in about how things were going among the other students. Apparently there had been some harsh exchanges between the houses in the lower years, that the eighth-year students were asked to curtail by McGonagall. Hermione dropped several hints that she’d like some help from Harry in getting the students to work together after he was released.

On the final night of Malfoy’s convalescence, they sat side-by-side on the edge of Harry’s bed, the piles of coursework strewn over a table in front of them. They were nearly caught up. 

Harry was feeling the energy between them as if it were tangible, like they were fighting an invisible force that tried to pull them together. He put down his quill and flexed his fingers stiffly. 

“I wanted to ask …” he started, but was cut off by Malfoy’s curt answer.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Potter. It was a dare. There was nothing more to it.”

Harry turned to look at Malfoy, who was deliberately focused on one of Harry’s essays in front of him. 

“Erm … I meant to say that I wondered if your mother knows who cursed you and why.”

He saw Malfoy’s cheeks flush as he ducked forward to peer closer at the page in front of him. 

“Of course she knows,” Malfoy answered irritably. “Don’t you think she would have raised a fuss about it if she thought it may have been cast upon me by anybody other than my father?” 

Harry realised the venom in Malfoy’s voice was an attempt to cover up the fact that he too had been dwelling upon the kiss they had shared. It made Harry’s body grow warm, though he knew he faced an enormous task in getting Malfoy to admit it. 

Madam Pomfrey interrupted them, clearing her throat. “It’s time to put away the books and get ready for bed,” she said, drawing the privacy curtain aside behind them. 

Malfoy scowled as he set his quill down. “Ask her if I could have a shower, Potter,” he told Harry. “The Cleaning Charms have left a sticky residue on my skin.”

Harry turned to ask, looking at Pomfrey’s confused expression. He knew it was probably quite off-putting to hear them conversing in Parseltongue and not to be able to understand what they were saying. 

“We’d really like a shower, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said, hoping his words were coming out in English. “The Cleaning Charms are making me itch.”

She pursed her lips, breathing out heavily through her nose. “I suppose that would be all right. The prefects’ bathroom is the closest, but I will only allow you to go if you promise to stay together. I don’t want either of you getting into any trouble while you are under my care.”

They finished clearing off the table and stuffing papers and books into their school bags in silence after she had walked away.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, noticing Malfoy’s scowling face.

“There isn’t a shower in the prefects’ bathroom,” he said, irritated. “I don’t much fancy sharing a bath with you.”

Harry tried not to feel offended. “At least the tub is enormous,” he said, trying to make light of the awkwardness he felt. “If we stay on opposite sides I don’t see how it will be much of a problem.”

Malfoy scowled again, but said nothing. 

Shortly thereafter they made their way up the stairs covered by a tapestry to the fourth floor and gave the password to the door to the bathroom. 

The chandelier burst into life as the door opened, revealing the swimming pool-sized rectangular bathtub with its hundred different taps. The flames from the candles sent a soft orange glow across the smooth white marble of the tub and floor. 

Harry moved first, walking towards the deep end of the tub. 

“That’s the side I want,” Malfoy interjected hotly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly. The bath is big enough for twenty people, Malfoy. Let’s just get it over with.”

He bent down, ignoring Malfoy’s indignant posture, and turned on a few of the taps, watching the steaming water begin to fill the large basin, much faster than it would in the Muggle world. Harry crossed the floor to a changing bench and stripped off his hospital pyjamas.

“Potter, I’m right here!” Malfoy protested. 

Harry looked up and met his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before,” Harry said, not feeling very charitable. It was hard work playing nice with Malfoy, especially when the tension between them was so thick Harry felt like he was boxed in by it. He dropped his pants and climbed into the tub, settling beside a tap pouring a thick layer of foaming bubbles into the water. 

He watched, faintly amused, as Malfoy crossed the room to a changing bench, a scowl plastered on his face. Malfoy grabbed a fluffy white towel from the stack and stripped off his pyjamas quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist.

Harry sat on the shelf lining the edge of the tub, allowing his head to rest against the ridge, relaxing his muscles, while Malfoy took a seat on the opposite side, still wrapped in his towel, his feet in the water. He adjusted a tap, sending a cascade of perfumed pink bubbles into the water and slipped under the surface, hidden behind them, unable to keep the sigh of relief from escaping his lips.

Harry wondered vaguely why Malfoy was acting so shy about seeing Harry nude, the way he kept averting his eyes, and refusing to look over, but the relaxing heat pouring from the tap to his right chased the thoughts from his mind.

Malfoy washed as the wall of bubbles dissolved, methodically mixing different potions from several taps, massaging his scalp with his back turned to Harry.

After he’d finished, he rinsed his hair, resurfacing from the water and moving towards the shallow end of the tub to turn another tap. A potion made up of what looked like purple sand filled Malfoy’s hand and Harry watched curiously as he scrubbed his arms and chest raw with it, finally sending a glare in Harry’s direction.

“You could wash, Potter,” he said dryly. “I don’t see why you feel the need to stare at me like a creeper.”

Harry shrugged at the barb. “What’s that you’re using? It looks like you’re trying to rub your skin off.”

Malfoy glowered at him. “I am exfoliating, you plebeian. It removes the dead skin cells and softens the skin. You might try it one of these days.”

Harry chuckled watching Malfoy attempt to get to his legs without surfacing; he overbalanced and caught himself from falling at the last minute by grabbing one of the taps. 

“Potter, stop watching me!”

Harry chuckled again and took off his glasses, setting them on the edge of the bath. He turned to the tap nearest him and turned it, dumping a soapy potion into his hand. He scrubbed his hair and upper body with it, then refilled his palm and waded over to the shallow end of the tub, standing naked with the water coming up to his knees. He washed the rest of his body with firm deft strokes and then plunged under the water and swam back to the deep end. He reclaimed his seat and put his glasses back on. “Done.”

He looked over to where Malfoy sat submerged to his chest in the shallow end, working at washing each of his fingernails with yet another potion, a faint pink flush covering his cheeks. 

It was a good half-hour before Malfoy had finally decided he was clean enough. He had spent the entire time not looking at Harry. 

Harry raised an eyebrow, when Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed at him finally, fixing him with a stare. 

“Would you mind turning around while I get out?” he hissed angrily.

“What’s the matter?” Harry hissed back, grinning. “Are you afraid you don’t quite measure up?” 

His heart rate sped up at the gibe. He hoped he hadn’t gone so far as to instigate a fight, but simultaneously sort of wanted a reaction.

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed red. He turned and climbed out of the tub, leaving Harry staring at his flexing arse. His body was gorgeous, legs long and lean, and Harry’s breath caught at the brief sight of Malfoy’s balls before Malfoy covered himself with a towel and crossed the room to put his pyjamas back on. 

Harry noticed they were freshly laundered and folded, set aside on the changing bench. He marveled at the magic of house-elves, to be able to complete their tasks without ever being seen, and was glad to an extent that they weren’t anti-wizard.

Harry watched Malfoy slip his pyjamas on, his back turned to Harry, and sighed, looking to his own pile of pyjamas in the corner. 

He climbed out of the tub, not hiding the fact that his cock was half-erect and on display, but he was tired of Malfoy’s constant denial of the chemistry between them. He slipped his pyjamas on, feeling his arousal grow as he could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, though he refused to look. 

He knew he wasn’t model material. His chest was heavily scarred from the Horcrux locket, his knees were knobbly and he was short compared to most grown men, but he knew, too, that he was fit and lean. He pulled his pyjama bottoms over his muscular thighs, toned even more from all the time he’d spent on his broom over the summer.

He tied the drawstring over the tent in his pyjama bottoms and flipped his fringe out of his eyes, then looked to where Malfoy had slung his towel around his neck. He was normally a lot more reserved about hiding his erection, but Malfoy was driving him batty with all his mixed signals. Harry felt like flaunting a bit.

“Ready?” Harry asked, noticing the careful mask Malfoy had made of his face as he didn’t acknowledge Harry’s obvious bulge. 

Malfoy turned and led the way out, and they walked back to the infirmary not talking. Fortunately, the corridors were empty.

~x~

When they pushed open the double doors of the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey stood, dressed in her nightgown with her hands on her hips.

“Thank you for deciding to make an appearance, gentlemen,” she said sardonically. “Curfew was half an hour ago. I trust you are clean? It’s time for lights out and I expect you to be fully rested before I release you in the morning.”

Harry returned to his bed under her stern gaze while Malfoy stalked to his own. 

The lights went out save a solitary candle which hovered beside the darkened window in Madam Pomfrey’s office door after she closed it. 

Harry put his glasses on the bedside table between their beds and closed his eyes, trying to find sleep, but his erection throbbed against the drawstring in his pyjama bottoms and he longed to relieve it. 

After about fifteen minutes of shifting under his blanket, trying to find a comfortable position, Harry held his breath, listening. He hoped to hear the rhythmic sound of breathing which would mean Malfoy had fallen asleep, but instead the sound of muffled panting met his ears. 

His cock ached more at the thought that Malfoy was wanking. 

He drew the drawstring from its knot and slipped his hand underneath, unsticking his leaking cock head from the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. His other hand moved upwards, carefully unbuttoning the pyjama top with fumbling fingers. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from making too much noise as the cool of the room settled over him and caused his nipples to stand up like small pebbles. 

Harry’s hand travelled over his chest, still warm from his bath, and then dipped down to join the other. One hand palmed his cock, while the other moved further, squeezing his balls gently, fingertips finding the puckered entrance to his body just behind them. 

He sucked in a loud breath when he heard a whimper come from the next bed, freezing his movements briefly.

And then Harry didn’t care any more. So what if Malfoy knew he was listening to him wank? Harry had needs just as much as Malfoy did. He let a long sigh escape while he stroked himself, dipping the finger of his other hand just inside his rim, fucking himself on it with short jabs. 

His eyes flew open at the sensation of eyes on him, and met Malfoy’s smouldering gaze staring down at him from above. 

Malfoy had shed his top and his pyjama bottoms were noticeably tented in front, making Harry squeeze his erection to keep from coming right then. 

“Don’t talk,” Malfoy hissed, then pulled Harry’s sheet off and climbed in beside him.

Harry couldn’t form words even if he had wanted to. He had to roll onto his side so there would be room enough for the pair of them, which necessitated moving his hands. The only problem was that Harry wasn’t sure where to put them next. He settled with folding an arm under his head and leaving the other draped uncomfortably across his hip.

Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms whatsoever as to where to put his hands. In an instant, one arm had snaked under Harry’s shoulder, while the other hand explored Harry’s chest. Malfoy leaned forwards to take Harry’s lips in a kiss.

Harry was almost too shocked to respond, but his arm found its way around Malfoy’s bare waist, brushing the groove of his back, and he kissed back enthusiastically, aware that Malfoy could withdraw his willingness at any moment. 

Their mouths moved together, drawing Harry to a higher level than he’d ever known. He’d never gone so far as to be half-naked with another person before, and he melted against Malfoy’s body as pliant as warm butter.

Harry wasn’t sure where he was in time and space. Everything that existed right then was Malfoy’s mouth against his and their bodies bumping together, while hands explored chests, arms, and quivering stomachs. 

Harry’s hand slipped down to Malfoy’s navel, following the soft path of downy hair leading beneath his pyjama bottoms. He wanted to slip his hand inside to touch the cock brushing against his own, but hesitated, unsure of how much was being offered. 

Malfoy seemed to read his thoughts. He chased Harry’s tongue with his own, sucking at it and Harry’s lips, while he pulled the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms, giving Harry access.

Harry groaned into Malfoy’s mouth at the feel of the velveteen smoothness of Malfoy’s cock as it filled his hand, thrusting upwards into his palm.

“Touch me,” Harry whimpered, and then Malfoy’s hands were all over him. The one he had tucked beneath Harry’s shoulder moved further underneath him, circling his back beneath his top, pulling Harry’s face even closer while the other slipped down to take Harry’s cock in a loose fist.

Harry shuddered, eyes squeezing tightly at the sensation, unable to keep from gasping into Malfoy’s open mouth, trying as hard as he could not to come before he was ready. 

They rubbed and kissed, all hands and chests, warmth and comfort, closeness and a sense of joining spurring them onwards. 

They didn’t talk. No words were needed. Harry felt like he could say everything he’d been thinking over the past month to Malfoy through his body, through his kisses. He poured his feelings of understanding of the loss and betrayal Malfoy had suffered, topping it with the sweetness of forgiveness, acceptance, and his longing for friendship. His hand gripped Malfoy’s cock, fingers pressed lightly against the ridge as it slid back and forth in his fist. His thumb brushed the head, making his own cock throb as Malfoy’s foreskin moved between his fingers, and droplets of semen squeezed out of Malfoy’s slit, scenting the air with a heady arousal.

Harry wanted more, needed to be closer. He moved his hand, feeling Malfoy’s kisses slow in hesitation until he made his intentions clear by gripping the back of Malfoy’s pyjama bottoms and pulling them down over the swell of Malfoy’s arse. 

Malfoy caught on quickly, catching Harry’s lower lip between his teeth briefly, and Harry could feel Malfoy’s jaw tremble with either fear or the intoxicating need he was feeling himself, perhaps a mixture of the two. 

Harry lost his sense of up and down then as Malfoy flipped him onto his back, pulling his own pyjama bottoms off the rest of the way and straddling Harry’s thighs. He pulled Harry’s pyjama bottoms down to just above his knees, trapping him beneath his arse, but once their cocks met skin-to-skin, aligning perpendicular to Harry’s stomach, Harry couldn’t be arsed to care that he couldn’t move his legs. 

Malfoy’s fist closed around their cocks, making Harry grunt as he pressed upwards, seeking the friction that would bring him release. He shuddered at the sensation of the band of Malfoy’s ring rubbing the ridge of his foreskin and his tender cock head. His eyes concentrated on Malfoy’s face as his jaw fell slackened, mouth panting. Malfoy’s pale blond hair was swept messily to the side and Harry watched him move, his body rising and falling with Harry’s thrusting hips.

Curiously, Harry watched Malfoy’s other hand rise to his mouth, and Harry’s stomach lurched as Malfoy wet his his fingers, swirling his tongue around two of them until they glistened in the low light from the candle. 

His breath hitched as Malfoy’s eyes found his and he withdrew his fingers. A smirk played on his thin lips, and Harry let his head fall back against the pillow, neck arching, knowing where those fingers were headed. 

They moved deftly past Harry’s heavy balls and dipped into the cleft of his arse, probing at the furled opening hidden between his cheeks. 

Harry couldn’t stand not being able to move any longer and wriggled his hips under Malfoy’s arse until he could catch the crotch of his pyjama bottoms with a foot and pull them most of the way off. He vaguely felt them hanging from his left ankle, but the small dips of Malfoy’s index finger just inside his rim drove all other thoughts from his mind. 

He let his knees fall open at the sides, giving Malfoy better access to his most private place. Malfoy’s hand around their cocks slowed its pace while the finger in Harry’s arse probed deeper, sending a fire rushing through Harry’s veins and heating him to a boiling point. 

He wanted to taste Malfoy’s lips again, to let him know how hot he felt, communicating through their kisses. He brought his hands to rest on either side of Malfoy’s waist, gripping him and pulling him forwards, making his desire as clear as he could without using words.

Malfoy’s hand left their cocks and he worked his way down until they were chest to chest, his finger still deep in Harry’s arse, and their lips met in a desperate caress. 

They ground their hips together, Harry falling apart under the magic of Malfoy’s wriggling finger. He was close. Their cocks slotted together perfectly, moving with sticky friction, and then Harry gasped into Malfoy’s mouth at the introduction of a second finger. His climax was building low in his balls, almost to the point of no return, and then the fingers crooked sharply and hit his prostate just right, making him come with a strangled cry, muffled by Malfoy’s sucking lips, spilling over his stomach so their cocks slid easily together.

Harry worked his hand between their bodies, taking Malfoy’s cock in his palm, feeling its wet slide as he formed a fist. Malfoy’s mouth smashed against his harder than ever, as Malfoy’s hand closed over Harry’s, thrusting his hips erratically until he went rigid, groaning into Harry’s mouth, his teeth bruising Harry’s lips. 

Malfoy pulled away from the kiss, gasping heavily, and pressed his forehead, cool with perspiration, against Harry’s shoulder, his breath hot on Harry’s nipple and his pointed nose prodding Harry’s clavicle with a sharp jab. 

Harry’s arms moved to circle Malfoy’s heaving body, gripping his still-clenching arse in his hands as Malfoy rode out the last of his orgasm rutting against Harry’s come-soaked stomach. 

The fingers inside him were still as their heart rates began to slow, but Malfoy brushed his prostate once more before withdrawing them, wrenching another groan of pleasure out of Harry’s gasping throat. 

Harry was spent, but felt the smile on his face stretching wider as the endorphin rush continued to explode throughout his body. The heat of Malfoy’s body against his, and the weight of it, made Harry feel more secure and treasured than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

Harry’s hands still gripped Malfoy’s arse, giving the cheeks a quick squeeze. He didn’t want to move, didn’t feel like he even could had he wanted to, but all too soon, Malfoy drew back and stood up. 

Harry frowned when he noticed Malfoy’s expression. Back was the mask of indifference, worn upon his pale face, giving him the look of of a china doll, vacant and unyielding and unearthly beautiful as he seemed to glow in the dim light of the flickering candle. 

Harry watched as Malfoy picked up his wand from the bedside table and cast a Cleaning Charm upon himself and then, as an afterthought, over Harry. 

Malfoy turned around and slipped his pyjama bottoms back over his slender hips, hiding his perfect arse from Harry’s view, hidden beneath the thin pale blue-striped fabric.

Harry felt a sensation of loss and a cold feeling of emptiness begin to steal over him, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. It was as if… if he uttered a word, the spell they were under would shatter entirely, and Harry didn’t want to let the last vestiges of the moment slip away. 

Malfoy crawled into his bed and turned on his side, facing away, while Harry lay, still naked but for the pyjama bottoms hanging from his ankle. 

Harry stared up at the high ceiling, wondering what could have possibly happened to Malfoy to make him think that shutting Harry out after such an intimate encounter was acceptable.

Half an hour later, Harry’s body felt like it was shrouded in ice, and he finally heard slow and steady breathing coming from the next bed over. He forced himself to move, to pull his pyjamas back on despite his body’s protesting stiffness and to burrow under the thin hospital sheet and blanket, his lips numb but still plump and bruised.

He was well aware that he had his own issues to bear, but thinking of the sorts of issues Malfoy must be carrying made him wonder if the attraction they had for one another really wasn’t enough to overcome the obstacles to a potential relationship.

Lost in his thoughts, sleep finally overtook him as the sky outside showed through the windows turning indigo with the approaching dawn.

All too soon, he was awakened by the sounds of voices.

Blearily, he opened his eyes, focusing first on Ron and Hermione talking with Madam Pomfrey at the far end of the room, and then moving to where Malfoy was fully dressed and packing his book bag. 

Malfoy must have noticed Harry was awake because he looked away, his cheeks flushed with the faintest of pink.

Harry pushed back his blanket and climbed out of bed, his arse twinging slightly with the ghost of Malfoy’s fingers. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, rushing towards him. She stopped at the foot of his bed, apparently startled by something in his expression. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, weighed down heavily at the cold shoulder Malfoy was giving him. “Why?”

“You just looked…” She stopped and shook her head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Hurry and get dressed. We’ll wait for you in the hall.”

He watched her retreating figure meet up with Ron and leave the infirmary.

He found his school robes waiting for him, freshly laundered and folded in a small pile on the bedside table, and began to dress. Malfoy looked around, realising he was alone with Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy shut him down by heaving his bag over his shoulder and walking away without a backwards glance.

The fragile strand of hope that Harry had clung to all night snapped in two as he watched Malfoy leave. He pulled himself together, concentrating on doing his buttons correctly, and attempted to ignore the ache of rejection deep inside his gut.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and met Madam Pomfrey in her office.

“Potter,” she said, looking up from her desk. “You are aware that I kept you as long as I did, not for your own health, but for Mr. Malfoy’s benefit? Keep an eye out for him, would you? I am afraid the attack he suffered may have done more psychological damage than my magic could mend.”

Harry nodded automatically, though his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d been used and discarded. Perhaps Malfoy really was as he claimed, the Death Eater he was raised to be. 

“I’ll do my best,” Harry told her. “But I can only help as much as he’ll let me.”

He found Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the hall.

They fell into step together on their way down to the Great Hall, Harry feeling the weight of their unspoken words hanging over them all like an ill omen.

“You like it rough, ponce?” A muffled voice pierced Harry’s introspection, and he rushed towards the tapestry at the end of the hall covering the entrance to the stairs, his wand in his hand. “How about if I just cursed your filthy gay cock off to protect the innocent? You make me…”

Whatever it was that Malfoy made him froze on Michael Corner’s lips as Harry cast a Full Body-Bind on him. 

Harry surveyed the scene before him, bile rising in the back of his mouth. Malfoy was sprawled on his back on the landing below the first flight of stairs, his robes ripped open and his chest exposed by his torn shirt. Blood trickled darkly from his busted lip, down his pointed chin and smeared across his chest. His books and scrolls were scattered down the second flight of stairs. 

Harry felt a wild beast inside him awaken as if from hibernation and his eyes flashed angrily at Malfoy’s prone body, making him quake under the power of Harry’s fury. 

“It was him?” Harry demanded, his rage bursting free through his voice, turned on Malfoy now that the attacker was held at bay.

Malfoy nodded fearfully, hands gripping at the flagstones to try to gain purchase to pull himself up.

“Who else?” Harry demanded, his wand pointed at Malfoy threateningly, though Harry could hardly see through the redness of his vision. 

“Smith,” Malfoy stammered, hissing in Parseltongue. “And Boot.” He finally managed to climb to his feet, his back against the wall and eyes trained on Harry’s wand tip, his face full of fear. 

He spotted the handle of Malfoy’s wand sticking out of his robes pocket. He pointed his own wand at it. 

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” he demanded, hating the look of utter hopelessness and terror that was reflecting at him in Malfoy’s eyes. “I didn’t return it to you so you could _not_ use it to defend yourself!”

Hermione rushed forwards and put her hand on Harry’s arm, aiming his wand at the floor. She waved her own wand over the scattered books and scrolls and restored them to Malfoy’s book bag, summoning it to herself, never letting go of Harry’s wand arm. 

She passed it to Malfoy, who took it with a trembling hand.

“Ron,” Harry growled. “Fetch McGonagall and tell her it was Zacharias Smith, Terry Boot and this idiot.”

Ron didn’t wait for further instruction. He sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

“Harry,” Hermione said coaxingly. “Why don’t you put your wand away?”

“Why?” Harry roared, turning on her now, throwing her hand off him, so she stumbled backwards a few steps. “Why should I ever put my wand away again? If filth like this…” he said, jerking his head towards Michael, whose eyes were wide and moving frantically in his frozen face. “If filth like this scum is lurking around every corner, I think I should have my defences up at all times. Screw the inter-house cooperation! Voldemort has won, Hermione, don’t you see? Malfoy can’t be free to talk or even exist in Hogwarts of all places without fear of retribution, which means there’s no hope he’ll survive in the real world. I can’t stop fighting … ever …”

“Potter,” McGonagall’s shrill voice called to him as she rushed towards them up the stairs, her staff cracking against the stones with every step. “Put your wand away this instant!”

His wand arm fell at last, his anger deflating under McGonagall’s stern glare. He turned to look at Malfoy, who was wiping the blood from his chin nervously with his hand, eyes still trained warily on Harry. 

He wondered, defeated, what had become of himself. How much had he been changed by the war, that even McGonagall wore fear in her eyes looking at him? 

He watched her send a Patronus back down the stairs and hung his head, feeling ashamed of losing control, and slightly afraid of himself. 

Time seemed to speed up faster than Harry could process. In the few moments he had spent staring down at the wand still tightly gripped in his hand, McGonagall, Malfoy, and Corner had left the stairway. 

“Harry?” Hermione said tentatively. 

He looked up at her, feeling as though his eyes had glazed over with a screen he could see through, like the eyes of a snake. His body shuddered at the thought. 

“What?” he asked darkly, feeling himself move as if in slow motion frames, his face turning to look at her. 

He saw her swallow and gather herself. “We need to go to McGonagall’s office,” she said, her voice as quiet as a whisper, as if she were afraid of setting him off again. 

“Oi —” Ron’s voice called, as he ran up the stairs to meet them. “Flitwick and Sprout are fetching Smith and Boot. We need to go up to McGonagall’s office right away. Mum’s sent a message to Kingsley to bring Aurors.” He stopped, seeming to gather the chill in the air around Harry. “Well, come on,” he said, and grabbed Harry by the elbow and Hermione by the hand, tugging them up the top stairs. 

Harry shrugged out of Ron’s grip, but followed, his mouth set in a resolute frown, wand still out and ready. He felt contagious.

~x~

An hour later, Harry sat in a chair before McGonagall’s desk, Hermione and Ron beside him. The heads of houses had subdued Smith, Boot and Corner and stood guard over them somewhere behind Harry.

McGonagall looked down her nose sternly from her position in the throne-like chair behind her desk. The door opened, drawing her attention. 

Harry turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt enter the room followed by Dawlish and two Ministry watch-wizards in matching uniforms. They relieved the professors of their charges as Kingsley addressed McGonagall. 

“Minerva, thank you for your swift action.” His low voice rumbled through the room, reverberating off the circular walls. He surveyed the students. “Where is Mr. Malfoy?”

“Poppy is looking him over,” McGonagall answered. “She will be here with him shortly.”

Kingsley turned his dark face to Harry, a frown creasing his bald forehead. “You witnessed the attack, Harry?”

Harry nodded, he was still finding it hard to control his anger. He kept his lips pressed angrily together. 

“We saw it too, Kingsley,” Hermione said, and then quickly amended, “I mean, Minister.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows raised comically. “You may call me by my name, Hermione,” he said, smiling though the smile did not reach his eyes. “You have earned that right.”

The door opened and Madam Pomfrey entered the room, Malfoy following as though against his will. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment than where he was.

Harry noticed his face was more pale than usual and he had pink spots on his cheeks as though he was suffering from a fever. 

His heart felt like it was being crushed by his deflating lungs, as if a hole had opened up in his chest and swallowed it. He met Malfoy’s grey eyes, seeing a hopelessness there, a sadness that Harry couldn’t help but feel Malfoy had brought upon himself.

Kingsley turned to Malfoy. 

“Mr. Malfoy. Are these three the students who attacked you?” he asked sharply, pointing at the bound students.

Malfoy gave a quick nod, not looking at them. 

“That’s good enough for me,” Kingsley said, and nodded at Dawlish. “Take them away to await trial.”

Dawlish cleared his throat and his reedy voice spoke up. “Minister, I don’t think a head nod should suffice as testimony …”

Kingsley’s retort was quick and sharp. “If Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger back that head nod, than it is enough, Dawlish. Take them into custody immediately and keep your remarks to yourself.”

Dawlish seemed to curl in on himself at the rebuff. He took charge of Michael Corner and led the watch-wizards out with Boot and Smith.

“Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey interjected. “I would like to keep Mr. Malfoy for another night of observation …”

Malfoy violently shook his head. 

Harry raised an eyebrow, meeting Malfoy’s eyes as if he was pleading with Harry to stand up for him. Grudgingly, he turned to Madam Pomfrey. 

“Madam Pomfrey. He shares a dormitory with me, and now that Smith and Boot are gone, he should be safe there. The other boys are friends of mine.”

She glowered at Harry as if angry that he would challenge her authority, but McGonagall answered her as Malfoy nodded his head in agreement. 

“Poppy, I feel that Mr. Malfoy has missed enough school as it is, as has Mr. Potter. As Harry is the only one who can communicate with him more than a yes or no question, I would prefer they stick together and attend their lessons.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned, her hands on her hips. 

“Very well,” she told McGonagall then turned to Harry. “But I expect you to notify me immediately, Potter, if anything out of the ordinary occurs. Do I make myself clear?” 

Harry nodded his agreement. 

“We need to get down to our lessons, Minerva,” Flitwick said in his squeaky voice. 

McGonagall looked at the clock on her desk with a frown. “Yes, Filius, of course,” she said. “You and Pomona should return, and Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley as well. I only need to speak with Molly and Horace, Potter and Malfoy a few minutes longer.”

Professors Sprout and Flitwick left with Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Hermione followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click. 

Meanwhile, Malfoy seemed to be attempting to blend in with the portraits lining the walls. Harry saw that his face was drawn and a line creased his forehead.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the portrait of Snape said in the silence that fell. It made Harry shiver hearing Snape’s voice for the first time since the war. “Dumbledore has told me what has happened to you. I am afraid I know of no method of removing the curse. It could be that your father must lift it personally or that it may wear off in time. I’m sorry, Draco.”

Harry had never heard so much emotion in that silken voice before. It was sort of creepy.

“Draco,” Dumbledore’s portrait said next. “Trust that Harry will help you overcome your affliction. He is a worthy friend to have, and I know he cares.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, I would like you to attend your lessons now, but return to my office at the end of the day. Your heads of houses will speak with you individually at that time.”

Harry stood up, feeling a bit outside of himself still, but took some deep breaths to calm his emotions. He walked to the door, unable to avoid noticing the slight flinch Malfoy gave as he passed. 

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall called after him. 

He turned to look at her. 

“Understand that I expect you to stay together, and send me a Patronus immediately if anything is amiss.”

They each gave a curt nod of understanding and left the room, but not before Harry noticed Snape’s portrait leave its frame, its hand to its head as if wanting to escape an unpleasant conversation. He looked over his shoulder at Slughorn and Molly’s troubled expressions as they waited for McGonagall to have her quick word, and wondered what he and Malfoy were in for later that day. 

When the reached the bottom of the circular stairs and stepped out from behind the stone gargoyle, Harry turned to Malfoy, unable to keep the bitterness he was feeling from his voice. “What time is it?” he asked, more for something to break the cold veil of silence hanging between them than for anything else. 

Malfoy looked at his wristwatch, and then held up his index fingers. 

“Not talking to me again, are you?” Harry asked, tempering his frustration. “Fine. Eleven?”

Malfoy nodded, his eyes still wary. 

Harry felt sick. It was just like the time in his fifth year when the sleeping serpent inside him would awaken at random and lash out its hatred at Dumbledore. He wanted the anger to go away, wanted people to not treat him like he had a Jekyll and Hyde complex. 

“So, Transfiguration?” Harry asked.

When Malfoy nodded again, Harry led the way down the corridor, his bitterness and anger still bubbling just under the surface of his control.

~x~

Lunch that day was unpleasant. Harry was surrounded by his friends at the Gryffindor table, yet felt more apart from them than he had in ages, wanting nothing more than to retire to his dormitory and to pull his blanket over his head and stay there until he felt better.

The conversations in the hall were abuzz with speculations, as the student body had witnessed Smith and Boot as they were escorted out by Sprout and Flitwick at breakfast and hadn’t returned. Based on the fact that people kept looking at him and then turning to whisper with their classmates, Harry surmised that they had sussed out that the reason for Boot and Smith’s departure had to do with him. 

He was surprised when an owl swooped in and dropped a letter in his soup. Normally the post was delivered at breakfast. 

The envelope was large and sealed with an official-looking stamp that he first thought was the symbol of the Ministry of Magic, but upon closer inspection was actually three Ws emblazoned in a sort of upside-down version of the Ministry’s seal.

He broke the seal and opened the letter.

> Harry,
> 
> I can’t help but wonder if I overstepped my bounds in sending you the last parcel, as I’ve not heard from you. Just send this letter back with a quick note, mate. Either tell me to stuff it or put my mind at rest, will you?
> 
> ~George

Harry stuffed the letter back in its envelope and stowed it in his bag. He got to his feet. He’d totally forgotten to write back to George and wanted to do it before he was sidetracked again.

“What is that, Harry?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. “Was it from the Ministry?”

“It’s just a quick note. I’ll tell you about it later. I need the loo.”

He excused himself and went to the nearest toilets, taking his bag with him.

Once he was safely barricaded in the only cubicle with a door, he sat on the toilet and pulled out the letter and a quill, balancing them on a book on his knees. He turned the letter over to write his response.

> George,
> 
> I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but you know how it is with me and my track record. I can’t seem to go an hour without being involved in some sort of threat-of-death scheme. Don’t ask ...
> 
> The Snitch … is brilliant! Fred knew what he was doing when he designed it. It’s taken me some time to come to terms with everything, and I’m still sort of working it out, but thank you for reaching out to me and supporting me, even though you weren’t sure. I really appreciate it.
> 
> No I don’t think you’ve overstepped your bounds. I think a line of sex toys is pure genius and I will be more than happy to have a look at your other prototypes. Thank you for being discreet. You’re a real mate.
> 
> ~Harry

He paused a moment, the quill hovering just over his signature. He wondered if he should tell George about Malfoy. He didn’t have anybody else to talk to about it, but then realised it was probably not that great an idea considering how Fred had died and the fact Malfoy was a marked Death Eater.

He scrawled a last-minute postscript.

> I could use one of your Patented Daydream Charms. Got anything that plays to my fancy? I’ve had a bit of a let-down and could use a bit of cheer. Thanks. 

He sealed the envelope and tucked it and his book back into his bag.

When he pushed open the cubicle door, Malfoy stood at one of the sinks, his back to the mirror, staring at Harry’s shoes.

It took all of Harry’s ability to not burst out of control again. “What do you want, Malfoy?” he spat, hearing the hisses echo loudly off the walls of the room, realising he was speaking in Parseltongue. He shivered, and narrowed his eyes in frustration. 

“You and I work!” he said finally, when it was clear Malfoy wasn’t going to answer. “You can go right ahead and deny it to your dying day, but _I_ know it, _you_ know it, and fuck, I think even Snape knows it! If you don’t have the bollocks to admit it, then I don’t want to talk to you!”

He couldn’t help it, but saying it out loud, venting his frustrations, made him feel loads better, as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Malfoy’s eyes closed, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy!” Harry hissed. “Fight back! Defend yourself! Talk to me! It’s only me! It’s not like I’m as frightening as Voldemort!”

Malfoy opened his eyes again and fixed Harry with his grey stare. Harry saw a shadow of fear pass over them though he held his gaze steady. 

“I’m not, am I?” he asked, suddenly unsure. He felt trapped. Like he was the little boy he had been in the past, being berated for climbing the schoolhouse when he’d accidentally found himself on the roof trying to escape from bullies.

“Potter,” Malfoy said quietly. “You’re worse.”

He watched Malfoy worry the ring on his right hand with his left, as if he were thinking about taking it off, then he turned and stalked out of the bathroom.

Harry felt like a freak.

~x~

After lunch was Potions. Harry normally let Malfoy do most of the work, since whenever he’d tried in the past to assist, he’d inevitably get his hand slapped out of the way. Without the Prince’s copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ , Harry was barely adequate at brewing.

Harry watched Malfoy preparing roots, chopping them into precise measures and ignoring Harry steadfastly. His heart raced as the sensation of the serpent inside him threatened to rise again. 

He asked Slughorn if he could use the loo halfway through the lesson. Slughorn waved his permission with an absent gesture, though Harry could tell it was faked. Slughorn couldn’t hide the curiously worried expression he wore, and it made Harry feel even more freakish than before. 

He found the dungeon bathroom and bolted the door behind him, breathing heavily. He needed to escape for a while, to just lose himself in something other than reality. He needed a focus …

His hand found the mokeskin pouch and withdrew the silver Snitch, holding it to his lips so the short wings tickled him. He closed his eyes, considering what he was about to do.

“Fuck it!” he said aloud and dropped his trousers. He bent forwards, whispered the incantation “Lubricus Volitum”, and pressed the small ball inside himself, gasping at its coldness. 

He sucked in his breath at the first sensation of the wings against his prostate, eyes falling shut, concentrating on the feeling of contentment and pleasure that coursed through his body from the toy.

Opening his eyes, he made his decision and pulled his pants and trousers back up, leaving the button undone and fastening his belt loosely, hiding his front with his robes and allowing his erection to grow unhampered. 

This was what he needed. A challenge. How much pleasure could he take? How much could he possibly endure without anybody finding out what was happening? 

His eyes seemed to see clearer, now that he had a focus, and he wondered if Malfoy would be able to tell there was something different about him when their eyes met next. 

Harry grunted and moved forwards to wash his hands at a sink, looking up at his reflection in the mirror. His pupils were larger than usual, though he wasn’t sure if it was due to arousal or the dim lighting in the room. He finished washing and focused on remaining calm as he headed back to class.

The remainder of the lesson passed more quickly and was easier to endure. Harry used the thrumming pleasure within him as an anchor to hold himself in the present as he recorded notes for their upcoming essay. He noticed Malfoy glance at him with curiosity several times, but didn’t allow his frustrations to take control again. 

The final lesson of the day was Charms, and Harry was ready for the day to be over.

Professor Flitwick called on Harry to demonstrate his Patronus. He closed his eyes as another wave of pleasure ran through his body, though he kept his face straight and cast the charm. 

His stag burst forth from his wand with a huge explosion of light, so intense and enormous that the entire class had to shield their eyes lest they be blinded. He pointed his wand at the window and the Stag galloped through, leaving a trail of glittering light in its wake.

Professor Flitwick climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, having fallen off the stack of books on his chair. He adjusted his pointed hat with an astonished expression on his face. “Mr. Potter,” he squeaked. “That must have been a powerful memory. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Patronus that large. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Harry fell back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut as the Snitch inside him nudged his prostate again. 

He opened them when he heard Flitwick move on to the next Charm up for review. Malfoy scribbled a quick note on a piece of parchment and slid it across the table he and Harry shared in the corner of the room. 

_What’s got into you?_

Harry smirked and shook his head, refusing to answer. What he wanted more than anything was to throw Malfoy over the nearest surface and shag him senseless until Harry’s cock was the only thing he could think about.

Malfoy’s eyes widened a fraction as he cast a curious look at Harry, and Harry wondered if his lust was beginning to break through to infect Malfoy as well. 

He couldn’t take another minute of the constant pleasure. It was becoming a slow torture. He waited until Malfoy turned his attention back to Flitwick and whispered: “ _Finite._ ”

Malfoy’s face whipped back towards him like a snapping elastic at the sound of the spell, his eyebrow raised in question. 

Harry shook his head, refusing again to speak. His heart continued to race, though he schooled his features into a calm presentation, focusing on Flitwick, and allowing Malfoy to think he was being ignored.

“Harry, will you be coming back to the common room after your meeting?” Hermione asked timidly after the class was dismissed. Her eyes darted to Malfoy in a hurried glance while he packed up his books.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry told her and Ron, who had come to stand beside her. “I think they just want an official statement or something.”

Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably, looking from Harry to Malfoy and back, as if he’d just noticed something, but wasn’t sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Harry lifted an eyebrow in question.

“See you after, mate,” Ron said. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her towards the door.

She rolled her eyes and looked back over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she said, then looked at Malfoy. “You too, Malfoy.”

Harry pulled his school bag onto his shoulder and turned to Malfoy, confused by the conflict he saw in the grey eyes. The thin strand of hope that had broken earlier sprang up again inside him at the sight. But he chalked it up to an aftereffect of the positive endorphins with which he was still reeling. 

They walked back to McGonagall’s office after depositing their bags in the dormitory.

Professor McGonagall waited for them behind her desk, flanked by Molly Weasley and Professor Slughorn. They all looked slightly uncomfortable as Harry and Malfoy entered the room. 

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter,” she said briskly. “I’ll have you and Molly take a walk down the hall. Professor Flitwick has given his permission to use his office for your meeting. Horace,” she said, nodding at Slughorn. “You and Mr. Malfoy may use my office.”

“What is this all about?” Harry demanded. “Why are we being separated? You know Malfoy can’t speak English right now.”

He saw McGonagall’s cheeks go pink and wondered what the hell sort of meeting he was in for. 

“I understand, Mr. Potter,” she said dismissively. “Professor Slughorn has been instructed to limit his interview to yes and no questions on Mr. Malfoy’s behalf. As for the details of your meetings, I’ll leave your heads of houses to explain.”

She swept from the office with as brisk a march as she could manage with her staff.

Harry glanced up at the portrait of Dumbledore slumbering in his painted chair, and then to the portrait of Snape, hoping to find a clue as to what was happening. Snape pretended to sleep, though Harry could see he was stealing glances as his painted eyelids opened a crack. 

Malfoy looked as dumbfounded and nervous as Harry felt. His face was still pale and his eyes were lined with dark circles. Harry wondered how he had held up so well all day after the morning he’d had.

“Come along, Harry, dear,” Molly said warmly. She rounded the desk and reached out her hand for his. “This won’t take long at all.”

He followed her to Flitwick’s office, confused, but figured that whatever all the secrecy was about couldn’t be worse that finding out that Dumbledore wanted him to destroy Horcruxes. 

She closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the chairs before Flitwick’s desk, and motioning for Harry to take the other.

He couldn’t help but notice the worried frown in her forehead despite her motherly smile. 

“Tell me how your lessons are going so far this year, Harry,” she said, when he had sat down. “Are you feeling challenged? Think you will be up for taking your NEWTs and joining the Aurors this spring?”

He raised his eyebrow suspiciously. “Career counselling?” he asked. “That’s what all this secrecy is about?”

He could tell he’d broken through her ruse when her cheeks coloured. 

She cleared her throat, still smiling, though it looked forced. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “Professor McGonagall also wanted me to ask how your speech for the dedication ceremony is coming along.”

Harry cocked his head, still not buying it. “And that’s why you’re blushing?”

“Well,” she said, the red in her cheeks growing more pronounced. “And Dumbledore wanted me to talk to you about your relationship with Draco Malfoy.”

“Ahh,” Harry said, feeling his own cheeks flush. Now they were getting down to brass tacks. “Well, that isn’t any of Dumbledore’s business,” he said bluntly. “Or yours. I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I appreciate that you care about me, but there are some things I need to do on my own.”

“Harry,” she said hurriedly, as if she sensed she was losing the upper hand. “It’s just … Well …” She paused, and then her words came tumbling out. “Professor Snape’s portrait has told Dumbledore about some of the um … things Draco had to endure under You-Know-Who’s power, and … Well, please, Harry. I just urge you to take things slow and with caution. It’s not so much that I’m worried about how you can’t make decisions for yourself, but Mr. Malfoy is in a fragile state and you’ve been through a lot yourself. Please, just promise me you’ll move slowly and be sure of your intentions before you develop … a physical relationship.”

Her chin trembled as she finished, clearly afraid she’d overstepped, but hoping Harry would hear her out. 

Harry was mortified. He couldn’t quite fathom he was getting a sex talk from his best friend’s mother. 

“Please drop it,” he said, standing up, feeling his face flush more red as the Snitch inside him reminded him it was still there. “You can tell McGonagall I’ll start writing my speech soon and I promise to have it done in time. Can I go now?”

Her eyebrows were furrowed with worry as she looked up at him. Harry hated to see the disappointment in her expression at his refusal to share all his secrets with her, but there were some subjects he just didn’t want to discuss with a parent figure. 

She nodded finally, smiling meekly. “Of course, Harry,” she said softly. “Just keep what I’ve said in the back of your mind.”

He fled as fast as he could.

~x~

As Harry strode away from Flitwick’s office, the Snitch began to flutter actively again, though it couldn’t have come at a worse time. His mind was not in the mood after his talk with Mrs. Weasley, though his body begged to differ.

When he reached the tapestry of the trolls learning to dance ballet, he stopped, wondering if the Room would still work after the fire. He decided to give it a go, needing a place to take care of his problem and retrieve the Snitch; having been on the edge of coming all day made him desperate. He quickly walked to and fro before the stretch of wall, thinking of a private place to wank. 

To his relief, the door sprang into being but, before he could enter, the sound of shoes clacking angrily against the flagstone floor made him look up to see who was coming. 

Draco Malfoy looked as if he were about to explode with fury. He rushed at Harry, making Harry draw his wand, ready to defend himself, but was surprised when Malfoy moved right past him to the door, throwing it open and storming inside. 

Harry cautiously followed, hearing the door click behind him and turn back into a wall. 

He looked around. The room was small and dark, lit by a solitary oil lamp on a table standing beside a standard dormitory four-poster bed. The bed was draped with a clean white sheet, free of curtains, and the scent of stale smoke hung in the air.

Malfoy had flung himself onto the bed and was staring up at the ceiling, his face contorted in anger. 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, approaching cautiously. He wanted Malfoy to go away and let him get the Snitch out of his arse, but at the same time found he was genuinely concerned by what was troubling Malfoy. “Er … What did Slughorn want to talk to you about?” he asked, knowing he sounded feeble.

Malfoy let out a hoarse laugh. He started spitting his words out, full of vitriol. 

“Wanted to know what my plans were for the future. Told me he could put in a good word for me with some Ministry people if I’d like. It was all lip-service. I know he’s only fussed because he’s been forced into it. And then he tried to talk to me about …” Malfoy stopped talking, his face colouring slightly, more than the anger had already coloured it. 

Harry felt his embarrassment rise up like a heatwave. It was bad enough having had to talk with Ron’s mum about sex; he couldn’t imagine how unbearable it would be to have Slughorn do it. 

He grimaced. “Um, yeah. Mrs. Weasley tried to talk to me about it too.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said, suddenly bleakly serious. He sat up on the bed, his knees bent, and forearms resting on them. “I can’t be this transparent.”

Harry looked at him, confused. “Transparent about what?”

Malfoy’s face paled. He closed his eyes, trying to find his words. 

He opened them again, looking helpless and worried. “Look. It’s not an … _acceptable_ lifestyle in my parents’ eyes.” 

Harry noticed the pleading lilt to Malfoy’s voice. 

“Is this more pure-blood claptrap?” Harry demanded suddenly. “I would think, considering where that line of thinking has got them …”

“No,” Malfoy interjected. “It’s more than that.” He paused a moment. “I’m expected to carry on the family name and to … _attempt_ to salvage some sense of dignity.” He stopped again and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Fuck. I can’t even _talk_ to people any more. There’s no way to pull myself out of this hole.” He sounded desperate and ready to give up. “And that’s… It’s part of why they beat me up.” He opened his eyes again and fixed them on Harry, pleading with him to understand. “I know it was because of this Mark.” He shook his left sleeve absently. “But I think the final straw for them was when I kissed you at the party.”

Harry rounded the bed and sat down at the foot a short distance from Malfoy. “You can talk to me,” he said, determined. “And I can talk for you. It’s not impossible to get through this mess.”

Malfoy fell silent. 

Harry watched him, wondering what he could be thinking. The Snitch inside him gave another flutter and nearly made him moan aloud, though he forced himself to keep it in. His eyes focused on the pale neck glowing in the light of the lamp, contrasting with the Slytherin tie. 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked after what felt like forever. 

Malfoy’s eyes were still fixed on Harry, his stare growing more intense. They were filled with a sort of longing for _something_ , and Harry couldn’t help but press his hand to his groin as his erection throbbed at the sight. 

He wanted to kiss the pain from Malfoy’s lips, to take his mouth and silence all the hopeless words. He wanted to put _his_ name on Malfoy’s tongue in place of all the talk about rectifying his family’s name. 

“You can sit, you know,” Malfoy said. He scooted back so his back rested against the headboard. 

Harry obliged, sitting beside Malfoy on the bed, his legs stretched out before him. The whole situation felt surreal.

Malfoy looked around the room briefly as there wasn’t much to see, then turned to Harry. “What did you need the bed for?” he asked. “Did all the talk about sex make you decide to drop in here for a wank?”

Harry flushed, embarrassed, and the Snitch inside him fluttered again. He closed his eyes a moment.

“Are you feeling all right, Potter?” Malfoy asked. “You’ve looked a bit _off_ all day.”

“I’m fine,” Harry answered, exhaling. “I just — I really need to come.”

When Harry opened his eyes again, Malfoy was watching him with a smirk playing on his lips; his eyes were focused. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” Malfoy said, shifting his position so he was sitting up straighter and looking as though he was eager for a show.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “Are you serious?” he asked, hoarsely, giving Malfoy a sideways look. His cock _ached_ beneath his briefs. He bit his lip, as the Snitch bumped his prostate again, swallowing hard to keep silent. 

Malfoy shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but Harry couldn’t stand not wanking a moment longer. It wasn’t like Malfoy hadn’t seen him come before, and it was just a wank after all. 

He sat forwards on his knees, cock screaming against his pants, and wrenched his robes over his head. He bundled them up and used them as a cushion between himself and the headboard, as the room hadn’t provided any blankets or pillows. He took off the mokeskin pouch as an afterthought and placed it on the table beside the lamp.

Aware of Malfoy’s eyes on him, Harry slid his loosened belt out of its buckle and tugged his trousers off. He reclaimed his position beside Malfoy, his back to the headboard, and cupped his still-trapped cock through his briefs, squeezing gently, watching the already sizeable wet spot on the fabric grow larger.

He heard Malfoy’s breath hiss and smiled. It gave him a feeling of power to know Malfoy was being turned on by watching him, and Harry was ready to use it if that was what it would take to get Malfoy to admit to his feelings. 

Harry lifted his hips and lowered his briefs, feeling an immense surge of anticipation rush through his body. He kicked off his pants and let his legs fall open to his sides. He was so hard and had put off coming for so long, his balls felt like they were about to fall off.

Beside him, Malfoy had pulled off his ring and was rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, catching Harry’s attention momentarily.

And then Harry looked at his erection, flushed and purpling against his stomach as it strained upwards towards his navel. He took it in hand with a relieved groan, wrapping his fingers around the hot sticky flesh and got straight down to business.

He fucked his fist, watching the head of his cock slipping in and out from beneath his foreskin, leaking precome into his hand and he fucked faster with the added lubrication. His breaths were growing short, legs trembling, and then his hand was pulled off his cock and Malfoy was forcing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, covering Harry’s body with his own. 

Harry’s hips snapped upwards at once and he devoured Malfoy’s kisses as if he was starving and wasn’t sure when he’d next get a chance to eat. 

They ground and rocked together, feverish in their attempts to climb into each other’s skin and forget the rest of the world existed.

“Want you,” Harry murmured. He took a quick breath and dove back in to capture Malfoy’s lips. All thoughts of Malfoy’s refusal to talk about what they were doing fled as the urge to touch and be touched trumped everything else.

Malfoy’s hands slipped down to Harry’s hips, as Harry pressed up against Malfoy’s arse, his cock chafing at the scratchy wool. 

“Me too,” Malfoy gasped into Harry’s mouth, and Harry’s heart took flight when Malfoy’s hand closed around Harry’s length, pulling him closer to the edge. 

Harry gripped Malfoy’s hips as their mouths moved in tandem, tasting each other, tongues teasing teeth and gums.

His hands moved upwards, loosening the knot of Malfoy’s Slytherin tie, then working the buttons on his shirt until he couldn’t stand it and just pulled the shirt off over Malfoy’s head. 

Malfoy took over then, pushing Harry’s hands away and pulling at Harry’s shirt until Harry lay naked on the bed but for his Gryffindor tie, which Malfoy had left knotted round his neck. 

He felt his body radiating with heat as Malfoy pushed his legs apart with his knees. The Snitch nudged his prostate again, making him cry out.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight when he felt Malfoy’s nimble fingers probing at his entrance, but they snapped back open when his neck was pulled forwards, yanked by his tie to meet the mash of Malfoy’s mouth, while Malfoy’s fingers dipped in and out, stretching Harry’s rim. 

The grey eyes focused on him as Malfoy stopped kissing and slackened his grip on Harry’s tie, letting him back. His face looked confused. 

“You’re already wet,” he panted and froze. “What is that?”

Harry was sure his face was red as a beet, but the ache inside him, the need for closeness emboldened him as he stared bravely back into Malfoy’s eyes.

“You’re a Seeker. Why don’t you catch it, and have a look?”

His mind spun as his cock throbbed heavily against his stomach. His mouth met Malfoy’s again and again in mind-shattering kisses, giving in to Malfoy’s demand to be in charge.

Malfoy yanked on his tie again, making his neck sore as the fabric chafed his skin. He felt his body bear down, expelling the Snitch at last along with Malfoy’s fingers.

Malfoy broke the kiss momentarily, looking down to see what it was he held in his hand. 

“You kinky bastard,” he said, and set the Snitch aside. He met Harry’s eyes as he replaced his fingers. “Has it been up there all day?”

Harry could hear the desire in Malfoy’s voice, his cock twitching against his stomach, weeping into his navel. 

Malfoy’s grip on Harry’s tie slackened again, letting Harry fall back against the mattress.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, faltering as a surge of pure _wow_ rushed through him as Malfoy stroked him from the inside. “Fuck! Do that again.”

Malfoy sat up, watching his fingers as they were swallowed by Harry’s hole. He pushed them in harder, driving them deeper. His eyes were completely focused on his task, his jaw dropping open in concentration.

Harry couldn’t quite believe the height of pleasure he had reached. If _foreplay_ felt this good, he wondered how much better it would feel to actually experience penetration. 

His eyelids were heavy as he watched Malfoy’s face grow pink with desire. He slipped his hand down to stroke his cock, desperate for release.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped to Harry’s, narrowing. His free hand slapped Harry’s away, while the fingers in Harry’s arse gave Harry’s prostate a punishing jab.

“No,” Malfoy hissed. His free hand slipped to his own neck and pulled his loose tie off with a whipping motion. 

Harry felt bereft as Malfoy withdrew his other hand and held the tie before Harry, wrapped around his fists tightly as if to steady his arms. Harry trembled, as a shiver of fear raced up his spine. 

“Grab the bar with your hands,” Malfoy said, his eyes flicking up to the headboard above Harry’s head.

Harry did as he was asked, wondering what Malfoy’s intentions were, but as long as the promise of sex hung over him, he would do anything Malfoy asked of him.

His hands gripped the cold iron bar of the headboard, his arms angled awkwardly above his head and Malfoy wasted no time wrapping his tie around Harry’s wrists, and fastening him in place with a quick tight knot. 

“I will be the one doing the touching,” Malfoy said forcefully, the smirk playful on his lips once more.

Harry watched as Malfoy climbed off the bed backwards, and slipped his belt from its buckle. His eyes were glued to Malfoy as he slowly lowered his trousers, and the sight of Malfoy’s fully erect cock, rising majestically from a soft thatch of shortly-cropped blond curls made Harry’s arse spasm involuntarily.

“Fuck, that’s hot!” Harry exclaimed. He let his legs fall open, baring everything to Malfoy. His hands longed to be able to reach out and touch as they held onto the bar over his head for dear life.

Malfoy climbed back onto the bed, Harry watching, enraptured as he used his wand to lube his hand. Malfoy held the wand before his eyes, examining it carefully and then met Harry’s eyes again.

“I know what you’ve done with my wand,” he said, his breath low and heavy. “Did you like it? Did you pretend it was my cock fucking you?” 

As he said this, he slicked his cock with sure strokes, and then set the wand down beside the discarded Snitch. 

Harry’s eyes grew wide. He swallowed hard, watching, knowing what was coming next. 

“I did,” he admitted with a quiet hiss. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, Potter, with the real thing,” Malfoy nearly growled. “And you are going to _love_ it.”

Harry nodded again, craning his neck, trying to watch.

Malfoy held Harry’s right knee to the side, positioning himself at Harry’s entrance, his grey eyes focused between Harry’s legs. 

Harry felt his arousal soar at the sensation of Malfoy’s cock head dragging up and down the cleft of his arse, teasing his hole. Their eyes met as Malfoy started to breach him.

Harry sucked in his breath at the initial pain, biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Malfoy pushed forwards, working himself inside Harry’s body, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting in deeper.

Harry commanded himself to not fight his bonds, focusing on relaxing his muscles, allowing Malfoy to come inside, hoping the pleasure he knew was there would come soon. His erection started to flag as he felt the stretch inside him burn. 

Malfoy’s expression was hard to read, but Harry could see the undeniable pleasure in his gasping mouth.

Harry cried out as Malfoy pulled his knee close to his body and started stroking his neglected cock in time with his gentle thrusts. He shifted his hips, changing his angle, making Harry shout as he found his prostate.

Harry’s head fell back, his mouth open in a giant _O_ while Malfoy’s hips drove on, now in frenzied thrusts. He groaned in protest when Malfoy released his cock, but his groans grew in their intensity as Malfoy held his hips, pulling Harry down on his cock while thrusting up into him.

Harry wondered if he was about to spontaneously combust, he was so hot and close to coming from the internal stimulation alone. 

His hands twitched against the bruising knot of Malfoy’s tie, his arms aching and numb from being in one position for so long, but when he heard Malfoy growl, he forgot his discomfort, distracted by Malfoy’s flushing face. 

Malfoy shouted hoarsely, pushing forwards once more, as deep as possible, and then he stilled, his body shuddering. 

“Don’t stop,” Harry cried out. “Touch me! Please!”

Malfoy’s eyes found his and he withdrew, ducking down between Harry’s legs.

Harry watched him, his chin on his chest, glasses fogging from perspiration, as Malfoy took his cock into his mouth, guiding it with his hand. 

Harry’s eyes rolled back, and then there were fingers in his arse again, massaging his prostate. The combined sensation of the internal stroking and the hot wet mouth sucking around him brought him to the brink of orgasm in record time. He felt it build low in his balls, his hips rising off the mattress, trying to shove his cock further down that talented throat. 

He came with a guttural cry, looking down at Malfoy’s face as he swallowed around the cock in his mouth, drinking Harry’s orgasm as if it were the sweetest honey, his nose buried in Harry’s short black curls.

Harry’s breathing was erratic as he slowly came down from the height of his pleasure. He closed his eyes, completely blissed out, as he felt his prick slip wetly from Malfoy’s mouth, and his body dripping with the remnants of Malfoy’s orgasm as the fingers withdrew.

The question of where Malfoy had learned to fuck crossed Harry’s mind, but he pushed it aside, not wanting to own the feelings of jealousy that would surely come with the answer.

The mattress dipped beside him as Malfoy settled himself beside Harry. He opened his eyes a crack, glasses askew on his nose and arms numb and aching. 

Malfoy’s expression looked thoughtful as he pointed his wand at Harry’s bound hands and released the knot with a spell. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, slightly fearful that Malfoy was about to withdraw again, and try to pretend their coupling hadn’t meant anything. 

He rotated his wrists gingerly, feeling returning to his limbs in a painful burst of pins and needles. 

“I don’t want to fight any more,” Malfoy said slowly, eyes locked on Harry’s. 

His hand moved forwards to adjust Harry’s glasses properly on his nose. 

Harry noticed Malfoy’s eyes had grown wet with emotion, as if he simply couldn’t hold it inside any longer and felt a great swell of relief that whatever it was they had between them was not one-sided. 

He turned on his side and rested his hand on Malfoy’s narrow waist. “I think we’ve moved beyond fighting, don’t you?”

Malfoy shook his head slightly, eyes closing with a sigh, a single tear escaping from the corner of one and trailing down his cheek.

“I don’t mean with us,” Malfoy said in clarification. He put his hand on Harry’s waist as well and they held on to each other, basking in the afterglow and touching, as if to try and keep the moment from passing. 

“I mean I’m tired of fighting who I am. I’ve been so wrapped up trying to reconcile what I want with what is expected of me, and it’s killing me. I don’t want to do it any more.”

Harry leaned forwards and brushed his lips to Malfoy’s. 

He drew back a bit, but their faces remained mere inches apart.

“Then don’t,” Harry offered at last. His fingers moved to trace the fine white lines marring Malfoy’s abdomen where his skin had knitted back together after Harry’s attack. “This is my mark,” Harry said quietly. “I put these scars on you. I don’t ever want to see you hurt like that again.”

Malfoy’s hand rose up to rest over the scar on Harry’s chest, over his heart where the imprint of Slytherin’s locket had burned into his skin. “Who put this here?” 

Harry watched Malfoy’s face as he answered, carefully measuring his reaction. “That one was from Voldemort.”

Malfoy flinched at the sound of the name, but didn’t draw his hand away. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve got one from him too.”

Malfoy’s eyes moved from looking at Harry’s scar to his own hand on top of it, to the finger bare of his ring. He turned, looking around the mattress until he found the ring and picked it up, examining it thoughtfully. He threw it across the room where it disappeared into a corner covered in shadows, and put his hand back on Harry’s chest. 

“I don’t need that any more,” he said, his voice low and serious. 

Harry wasn’t sure, but Malfoy’s voice seemed to have changed somewhat. It was more honest or open or _something._ He rested his hand on top of Malfoy’s on his chest, holding it in place. “I want you,” Harry said again, and meant it.

Malfoy smirked, his eyebrow arching sharply, face reflecting a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty. “Potter, I doubt you’d know what to do with me.”

Harry slipped his hand down, searching the sheet underneath him to retrieve the Snitch he could feel wedged beneath his thigh. 

He brought it forwards, propping himself up on his elbow, and looked from it to Malfoy. “I have a few ideas,” he said, smirking.

Malfoy’s eyes moved to the Snitch and he grabbed it out of Harry’s hand before Harry could try to hold onto it. 

“Where did you get this brilliant little toy? Do you have more like it?”

“It’s a prototype,” Harry explained. “It was designed by Fred before he died. George asked if I would test it. He’s going to open an adult line of products soon. Says that’s what the world needs now.” Harry shrugged.

Malfoy nodded seriously. “He’s absolutely right. This world does need more sex. I’m more than willing to do my part.”

Harry pushed Malfoy onto his back and threw a leg over his legs, draping himself along Malfoy’s chest, watching Malfoy’s eyes widen as a shadow of fear crossed them. 

“Hey,” he said, seeing it. “I’m sorry that I scared you earlier. I didn’t mean to turn my anger on you. It’s just … There’s still so much hate everywhere. I really wanted to be able to just talk to you like this, without anything coming between us, and I was upset that you were pretending like this,” he waved his hand between their bodies, “this thing between us, didn’t exist. It hurt my feelings when we had sex the first time and you wouldn’t look at me or even acknowledge me after.”

Malfoy’s hand brought the Snitch closer to his face, looking at it rather than at Harry as he answered. 

“I’m confused, Potter,” he said. “I haven’t wanted to accept the fact that I am gay, and I’ve been actively trying to deny it for years. Do you know how hard it is to live in denial when the boy of your dreams is suddenly the only person who can understand anything you say? That you’re completely at his mercy?”

He looked back at Harry and changed the subject. “So, the great Harry Potter is also a fantastically great bottom?”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. He’d read the magazine articles in the Muggle rag he had and the one George had sent, but they seemed to refer to the top and bottom positions with a bit of an emphasis that the bottom was weaker than the top.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being on top,” Harry said, shrugging. “Actually, all I wanted to do in Charms earlier was to bend you over the nearest table and fuck you until the only thing you could think about was my cock.” He saw Malfoy’s face blanch slightly. “I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to try one of these days.”

“I could use a shower,” Malfoy said, pulling away and sitting up.

“How about a quick trip to the Prefects’ bathroom?” Harry asked, grinning slyly.

Malfoy looked down at the mess leaking all over the sheet beneath Harry’s bum. He jerked his head to the corner of the room, where a shower cubicle had appeared with room for two. 

“I think the shower the Room has provided will suffice,” Malfoy said. “Besides, you’re leaking all over the place.”

~x~

They washed quickly, exchanging shy glances. When they stepped out, the Room had provided a pair of fluffy white towels hanging from hooks on the wall.

Harry couldn’t help but notice Malfoy had seemed to close up since he’d mentioned topping and was dying to know why, but he felt like he was still walking on eggshells and didn’t want to blow his chances by asking uncomfortable questions. 

When they had dressed, Malfoy looked up at Harry. 

“Spit it out,” Malfoy said with a sigh. “I can see your mind working. What are you thinking about?”

Harry Summoned the ruined Slytherin tie from where it had fallen on the mattress and handed it over. He chewed over his words thoughtfully. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asked. “You said before you were tired of fighting yourself, but does that mean … Are you interested …” He felt like an idiot, and Malfoy wasn’t helping by the nonplussed expression he wore on his face. “I want to —” Harry said, his words coming out in a rush. “Will you … date me? Give us a chance to see if, you know, if we can work together?”

His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for Malfoy to answer. He felt like his future hung in the balance, and if Malfoy discarded him again, Harry thought he’d lose faith in the whole idea that he could find something worth saving the world for, something worth living for.

Malfoy’s face looked troubled as he heard Harry out. Harry held his breath, wondering when Malfoy would answer. 

Finally, after staring Harry down for several moments, Malfoy spoke. 

“It has to be all or nothing with you,” he said, his voice soft and slow. “I’m not good enough for you, Potter. Surely you have to realise that. What would the wizarding world say when they see their saviour on the arm of a Death Eater?”

Harry felt his determination rise. Malfoy hadn’t said no, but he hadn’t said yes either. This meant Harry had to convince him he was worth the risk. 

“I think,” Harry said, snaking his arm around Malfoy’s waist and pulling him close, his hand settling on squeezing an arse cheek. “I think they would see that I believe in second chances and that they should be open to them as well. I think the only thing that will heal the rift Voldemort made is love.”

Malfoy tried to keep his smirk from growing. His lips pursed together as he looked into Harry’s eyes. 

“Are you saying you’re in love with me, Potter?” he asked, a blond eyebrow arching high on his forehead.

Harry licked his lips, feeling a sense of panic overtake him. He was really pants at the whole “take it slow” advice Molly Weasley had given him. 

“Umm,” Harry stammered, feeling his face colour. “Can we just give it a go and see what happens?”

“Well, perhaps,” Malfoy said, his eyes looking down to Harry’s lips. “I don’t bottom,” he added flatly.

Harry wondered why that was such a big deal, but he didn’t want to blow his chance. “I can work with that.”

Malfoy met his eyes again. “What will your friends have to say? I also don’t want to be your dirty little secret.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you a secret,” Harry said. “Shall we go and tell them now?” 

Malfoy held up his wand and Summoned the Snitch from the bed. 

Harry looked at it, and then into Malfoy’s cool grey eyes. “Keep it,” he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “You might like it.”

Malfoy’s face flushed, but he didn’t give the Snitch back; he put it in his pocket. “I sincerely doubt that, but I will hold onto it. It could be fun the next time we get a chance to play a Seeker’s game.”

Harry shut Malfoy’s mouth by closing his own over the top of it.

~x~

When they reached the door to the eighth-years’ tower, Harry noticed Malfoy had slowed his steps and was trailing behind.

“Go on ahead,” Malfoy said. “I’ll be right in; I just need a minute.”

Harry pulled the door open and stepped into the common room. It was packed with students from all houses and years. He spotted Ron playing Neville at a game of wizard’s chess at a table in the corner. Hermione was curled up in an armchair by the fire nearby reading a book, while her fluffy ginger-haired cat, Crookshanks, sat on the chair’s back and flicked her face with his tail. Ginny and Blaise were snuggled together in a loveseat on the opposite side of the fire while Seamus, Dean and Lavender laughed about a comic Dean was drawing. 

The rest of the chairs and pouffes in the room were filled with students at tables studying or else chatting and playing games. Nobody seemed to notice that Harry had entered.

He walked over to the chess game, smiling at Ginny and Blaise as he passed, flushing a bit when she winked at him. 

Ron was studying the board in earnest while Neville grinned on the other side, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. 

“Harry!” Neville said, when he saw Harry approach. 

“Hey Nev,” Harry answered, and turned to Ron. “How’s it going, mate?”

Ron scowled, not looking up from the board. “How did you get to be this good at chess, Neville?” he muttered, then knocked his king over with a finger, finally looking up at Harry. 

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” he demanded, taking out his anger at losing on Harry. He looked at Harry’s neck and his eyes grew wide. “Have you been fighting?”

Harry rubbed his neck, feeling the chafing marks that his tie had left on it, and shook his head quickly. “Not exactly,” he said. Suddenly he didn’t feel like here and now was the time or place he wanted to have this talk with Ron. “I’m tired,” Harry said feebly, though it wasn’t a lie. He had been running on fumes all day. 

Hermione looked up from her book. “I think I saw Malfoy head upstairs, Harry.”

“Oh?” Harry answered, hoping he wasn’t being as transparent about his eagerness to talk to Malfoy as he felt. “Thanks. I’m going to turn in.”

Ron gave him a worried look. “Is Malfoy up to something again?” he asked, brow furrowed. “You’re spending an awful lot of time around the ferret.”

Hermione stood up and came to Harry’s rescue. She put her hands on Ron’s shoulders and started to massage them. “You know they have to stick together as long as Malfoy is cursed, Ron. McGonagall said so. We’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Harry.”

He ran up the stairs two at a time after saying his goodnights.

“Malfoy?” he said, pushing the door to the dormitory open. 

Malfoy was lying on his back on his bed, staring at the ring on his hand when Harry approached. 

Harry stopped, and looked at it, confused. “I thought you left that in the Room. Did you go back and get it by yourself?”

Malfoy shook his head wearily and dropped his hand. 

“I’m cursed,” he said flatly. “No matter how hard I try to throw the bloody thing away, it always comes back to me.”

Harry picked up Malfoy’s hand and looked at the ring. He pulled it off Malfoy’s finger. 

“Budge up,” he said.

Malfoy scooted over to make room for Harry to climb up beside him. 

Harry pointed his wand to his own bed and closed the curtains around it with a spell, then closed Malfoy’s curtains and cast a Muffliato Charm on them so they could talk without being disturbed. 

“The curse is in the ring?” Harry asked, looking down at Malfoy where he lay with his eyes closed. 

“In the ring, in my blood, I’m not sure,” Malfoy answered with a shrug. “I’m exhausted.”

“Can I wear it tonight?” Harry asked, watching Malfoy’s eyes open and blink up at him. 

“Why?” Malfoy asked, then smirked. “You don’t think that’s moving too soon, exchanging rings?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, you git. I want to see if it will end up back on your finger if somebody other than you wears it. May I?”

Draco shrugged again and tugged at his robes. “Suit yourself.” He sat up and looked at Harry. “Are you planning on sleeping in my bed?”

Harry slipped the ring onto his ring finger on his right hand. It felt heavy and _evil_ , though he didn’t say anything about it to Malfoy. 

“Huh?” he asked, noticing Malfoy was looking at him as if waiting for an answer. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and pulled his robes off, tossing them to the foot of his bed. “If you’re going to sleep with me, you’d better take off your clothes. I don’t want to wake up being scratched by inferior fibres.”

Harry smiled despite himself, happy to be able to stay. He stripped off and put his clothes and glasses in a pile beside Malfoy’s, then climbed under the sheets, wrapping himself around Malfoy’s slender body. He pressed his lips to Malfoy’s shoulder, the heaviness of sleep drawing him under within minutes.

_His bare feet burned as he felt his way through the darkness, groping at the cold earthen walls of the passage he found himself in. A light glinted at the far end which he could only see when he forced his eyes to open against the pain of the swelling on his face. The scent of blood and mould attacked his nostrils, filling his lungs with their putrid stench. He stumbled, stepping on something hard, feeling his ankle twist as pain shot up his leg. Nearly there._

_Harry came to the end of the passage blocked by a wooden door. The light streamed through the cracks around it where it was held up by its rotting frame._

_He knocked, feeling his bruised and bleeding knuckles scream at the rough splinters in the wood._

_It opened, sending him sprawling face first onto the filthy dirt floor._

_When he forced his eyes to open as much as he could, he found himself looking at the skull of a long-dead human body, lying in exactly the same position he was now in. He felt the acid in his stomach rise into his chest, burning his throat. And then the pain came, a horrible twisting pain that snaked through his entire nervous system, setting it on fire while his limbs contorted trying to fight it off._

_Forever later, the curse lifted and he heard a cold high-pitched voice split his head from somewhere above him._

_“Lucius,” Voldemort’s voice hissed on, drawing out the S in his name. “I have made all of the preparations. Come now and get to your feet. It does not do to keep Lord Voldemort waiting.”_

_Harry pulled himself up, forcing himself to stand on his twisted ankle, to fight the pain in his face in order to look his master in the eye._

_“My Lord,” he said, his voice hoarse and parched. “My son …”_

_“Enough!” Voldemort spat angrily. “Your son has earned his punishment and suffered through it as you have. He has now learned his _position_ amongst my Death Eaters.” Harry flinched at the realisation of what Voldemort had put Draco through. “Now you will bind him to yourself and yourself to me so there will be no more secrets among us.”_

_Harry felt his eyes burn with tears that had no room to fall. He saw the ring, his father’s ring, held in Voldemort’s ghostly white palm as a wand was pushed into his bleeding hand._

_“Where is it?” Harry asked, gulping, knowing he had to do what he could to survive. He had to do what he could to keep his family alive._

_“There,” Voldemort hissed, pointing to the corner of the room._

_He turned towards the sound and his eyes fell on a small Muggle boy, chosen specifically because he resembled Draco, chained to the wall by his neck, his blond hair gleaming in the light from the torches. He turned his large grey eyes upon Harry, face frozen with fear, and Harry could only think of how innocent Draco had been at that age as he lifted the wand._

_His hand trembled as he took aim. “My son,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m sorry.”_

_The room filled with green light, though Harry closed his eyes as the spell hit._

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, heart thudding hard and fast. He was Harry, not Lucius Malfoy, and he was here, now. 

He looked around. Malfoy slept peacefully, curled on his side, his lips parted in a half-smile. 

Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked down at his hand. He still wore the ring and he knew now what this ring was. 

Slowly he reached for his clothes, moving with caution, trying not to rouse Malfoy. He struggled into his trousers as the ring began to grow hot on his finger. 

He hissed in pain and Malfoy sat up in bed and turned to look at him. 

“Potter? What are you doing?”

Harry winced and pointed at Malfoy’s robes. _“Get dressed, quick. It’s a Horcrux. I need to get to Gryffindor’s sword.”_

“I can’t understand what you’re saying, Potter, speak English.”

Harry found his glasses and pushed them on his nose. He shook his head, trying to tell Malfoy that he was _trying_ to speak English, but it wasn’t working. The ring began to constrict around his finger, cutting off the blood flow, and Harry panicked. 

He threw back the curtains of the bed and bolted out the door. His finger was numb, though the burning sensation continued to bore down into his very bones. 

As he made his way across the common room, he tripped over a bump and went sprawling.

“Mr. Harry Potter, sir,” Dipsy the house-elf, said bowing low. “Dipsy is sorry to be tripping you with his feet.”

Harry clutched his hand in pain as he heard Malfoy enter. 

“You, elf,” Malfoy shouted. “Get us to McGonagall, immediately!”

He ran to Harry’s side and tried to prise the ring off his finger. “Please!” he said, and Harry saw the look of pure fear on his face as he begged the elf. 

Harry gritted his teeth against the pain, expecting his finger to pop clean off, and then the sensation of being squeezed through a long tube overtook him, and he felt his hand in Malfoy’s and the elf’s hand holding on tightly to his wrist.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he shouted for Dumbledore, and Snape and McGonagall, but all he could hear in his ears was hissing. 

“Help us!” Malfoy shrieked.

Harry heard the sound of Dumbledore and Snape’s hurried voices, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying through the pain. 

“Potter, give it back to me,” Malfoy’s voice finally made itself heard through Harry’s pain. 

Harry ground his teeth together. _“It’s no use, I can’t get it off!”_ The pain was excruciating and he thought he wouldn’t be able to withstand another second as Malfoy yanked the ring off his finger.

“The Sword, Harry,” Dumbledore’s portrait said, swinging forwards.

Harry spotted the ruby-encrusted hilt just inside and leapt to reach it, as he heard Malfoy’s voice scream and dissolve into cries and curses. 

The Horcrux had awakened. 

Harry grabbed the sword and swung back around to see Malfoy staring into the cold grey eye of his father on his finger. The voice that came from the ring gave Harry the sensation of déja vu as it spoke: “My son. I’m sorry.”

“Take it off!” Harry said, holding the sword ready to strike. He wouldn’t do it while Malfoy had the ring on his finger. 

Malfoy looked up at Harry, no longer screaming in pain. His eyes were full of tears. 

“I can’t, Potter. He’s my father.”

“You can!” Harry said forcefully. “I was there; I saw it happen. He did it to save your life. He loves you and knows you need to do this to be free!”

Malfoy shut his eyes, sending a volley of tears flooding down his cheeks. He pulled the ring off with his eyes still closed. 

“I’m sorry too,” he cried, and set the ring on the desk.

Harry raised the sword and struck, and the grey eye that had appeared in place of the Malfoy crest was gone. The ring rolled in two pieces on its band and fell broken upon the desk. 

Harry forced himself to breathe as the pain returned to his hand. 

He dropped the sword and fell into Malfoy’s arms, McGonagall’s shrill voice the last sound he heard. 

~x~

“Where am I?” Harry mumbled, struggling to lift his eyelids. They were heavy, but he managed it, only to have to shut them immediately against the blinding light streaming towards him from a window.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice said earnestly.

Hearing his first name from Draco made him try again, this time squinting as he lifted his eyelids. 

“That’s my name,” he said. 

Draco’s face came into focus, though it was still blurry. He tried to lift his hand to feel if his glasses were on his face, but met resistance.

His eyes looked down his body, spotting his right arm bound to his side in a sort of glowing bubble. 

He lifted his left arm, relieved to find that it still worked and was free.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Harry asked, blinking himself fully awake. “Where are we?”

“St. Mungo’s,” Draco answered. “Your finger … well, they saved it, but it’s scarred.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, he moved his free hand to touch Draco’s face. “How are you? I’m sorry. Before, when I said I wanted to top, I didn’t realise what he’d done to you.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut as a blush spread over his cheeks. 

“Potter,” he murmured. “We are _not_ the only people in the room.”

Harry blinked again, squinting down to see the outlines of three more blurred figures standing at the foot of his bed.

Draco put Harry’s glasses on Harry’s face and Ron, Hermione and George came into focus. 

Harry felt himself go red. 

“Um … Hi?” he said, feeling foolish. 

Hermione and George wore wide smiles at the sight of him awake, but Ron just looked perplexed. 

Ginny stepped forwards then and stood beside Harry’s bed on his right side. 

“Skull like a troll’s,” she said to Harry, rolling her eyes.

“Tell it to me straight,” Ron said, addressing Harry. “They’ve all been trying to tell me you’re in love with the ferret. It’s not true, right? You said you were drunk.”

Harry grinned despite himself at the the look of pure denial on Ron’s face. 

“Ron, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Draco. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

Ron’s eyes closed as a look of pure shock came over him. “I’m just going to sit down for a minute,” he said, and stumbled to a chair.

Harry listened as his friends filled him in on what had happened during the hours he’d been put in an enchanted sleep to allow his finger to mend. 

Apparently Lucius Malfoy would be called to stand for trial again, now that Draco could speak English again, though Draco wasn’t as angry with his father as he had been before. Harry insisted that he would be happy to testify to the extent they would allow what he’d witnessed while wearing the ring. 

The trial for the three boys that had attacked Draco would be happening that week as well, and while Harry was all for seeing they were tried and punished to the full extent as adults, Draco convinced him that they too might deserve a second chance.

Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall visited him next, while Professor Slughorn escorted the students back to Hogwarts.

~x~

Harry heard his name announced and took a deep steadying breath. Draco squeezed his hand under the table, giving him a bit of reassurance.

He rose and walked to the podium set up where the professors’ table normally stood in the Great Hall. 

Professor McGonagall shook his hand, clasping it in both of hers, and then pulled him down into a hug before stepping aside so he could speak. 

The sound of cheers and laughter permeated the room, as it was filled to bursting despite the Expansion Charm Flitwick had placed on it, doubling its usual size. 

Harry held up his hands for silence, pausing a moment to linger on the disfigured reddened digit that had been his ring finger, further marred by a solid black band of magic holding it in place. 

The Hall fell silent as Harry gave a sweeping look at those in attendance. 

“Thank you,” he said, and cleared his throat, not used to using a Sonorus Charm nor hearing his voice magnified ten-fold. “Thank you all for coming to this dedication ceremony. Today we remember those who gave their lives for all of our freedom, as well as those who offered their numbers selflessly in defence of Hogwarts and to put an end to the evil plaguing our world.”

His eyes fell on the group of house-elves sitting in the front row before the house tables, looking up at him with huge round eyes full of rapt attention and obvious discomfort at being asked to sit side-by-side with wizards. Next he saw the rows upon rows of students and parents, Ministry employees, Diagon Alley shop owners, Hogsmeade residents, ghosts, and even a few Centaurs standing towards the back of the room. 

“The past few months have brought many changes to our world, changes that I hope will be for the betterment of all of our lives. I stand before you not as the hero of you all, but as a survivor, just like all of you. I have lost … a lot … over the course of my life. My parents, my innocence, even my identity as a wizard, but I’ve gained so much at the same time: friends I could never replace, and a sense of purpose that I never realised I needed. All of us need something to live for, something to strive towards. That will never change. The wizard known as Voldemort did his best to spread hatred and despair. He tried to strangle our growth and our lives by putting some above others and encouraging suspicion. He tried to bring us down by pitting us against each other. But the real reason he failed in all that was because Voldemort was unable to love, and it was love that defeated him.”

Harry paused. He swallowed hard, feeling himself choking up a bit. “We, all of us, defeated him. The compassion we hold as people, and elves, and centaurs, and goblins.” He turned and nodded to Hagrid and Grawp who were sitting cramped in the corner of the room. “And giants, even. It’s love, as Albus Dumbledore always said, that will heal the rift that has been made. The love we have for our friends and family, for our lovers and our neighbours, and then compassion. Even for those we consider our rivals, or nemeses, or enemies. I am ready to stand up before you all and proclaim that I will put my past behind me and embrace my future with a clean slate. I encourage you all to look deep within yourselves and realise that we all deserve another chance.”

He turned back to focus on the table where his friends sat. Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the rest of the Weasley family, and his new friends Blaise and Pansy mingling easily with his old friends Neville and Luna, Dean and Seamus. 

He held out his hand to them. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, feeling his knees shaking behind the podium, glad that it was there to hide and to steady him.

He saw Draco’s face blanch, but he coolly put on his familiar mask of indifference, which Harry recognised as Draco’s defence mechanism to hide his fear. It was strange — Harry realised then that he couldn’t tell what Draco was thinking as well as he had been able to when he had worn the ring; probably the old connection with Voldemort had worked through the Horcrux, allowing him to just know what the wearer was thinking. He swallowed his fear, and took the chance on whatever Draco’s reaction to being called out would be. 

Draco looked back at him, his eyes clear and chin lifted haughtily. 

“I forgive you,” Harry said. “I’m telling you now in front of everybody I can, that I forgive you. I believe you have earned your second chance and I’m happy to be able to walk alongside you as you take it.”

Draco got to his feet as murmurs and whispers broke out among the assembly. He stalked to the stage and looked Harry squarely in the eye.

Harry could feel Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes on them. She was seated at a nearby table in the front row with her Ministry escorts. 

Harry swallowed hard again, not sure what Draco was planning to do, but trusting him to make a wise decision. 

Draco held out his hand. 

Harry smiled, looking at it, transported back to the days when the younger Draco had been eager to befriend the famous Harry Potter, but had earned a snub. 

Harry put his own hand in Draco’s and shook. And the room burst into cascades of applause and stomping feet. 

“Well done, Potter,” Draco said, smiling smugly, his lips tantalising in their familiar smirk. 

McGonagall returned to the podium to relieve Harry of his speech duties and dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief, smiling at the pair of them. 

“Dumbledore would have been very proud to have seen the young men you have become,” she said. 

Harry and Draco returned to their table, hand in hand, while McGonagall gestured for silence and welcomed Kingsley to speak next. 

All in all, Harry thought, the future looked bright.

~END~


End file.
